


Burn that page for me

by Solnyshko_UK



Series: Your embrace clears the storm in my head [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Blood and Violence, Confident Katsuki Yuuri, Declarations Of Love, Falling In Love, Forced Cohabitation, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Intrigue, M/M, Minor Character Death, Political Alliances, Prince Victor Nikiforov, Slow Burn, Threats, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 52,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27080512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solnyshko_UK/pseuds/Solnyshko_UK
Summary: Prince Victor Nikiforov never asked to be dragged to Leglein's Palace and to live under the same roof as his hated father, King Dmitry Nikiforov. Victor swore to stay away from the man and never touch any of his possessions.Everything is fated to change when Victor discovers that one of the King's possessions has large brown eyes with unfathomable depths and the grace of a dancer's movements. And that he is in grave danger.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Phichit Chulanont & Katsuki Yuuri, Phichit Chulanont & Victor Nikiforov
Series: Your embrace clears the storm in my head [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2059659
Comments: 427
Kudos: 277





	1. Spring

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought I'd write anything with the tags this story requires, but stories often do what they want.
> 
> A few weeks ago I read a manwha that hit me like a hammer in the stomach and inspired me enormously. The manwha is called King's Maker, by Haga and Kang Jiyoung. It's still ongoing, but the English versions of the first two series can be found on Lezhin (the first) and Tappytoon (the second).  
> The themes of the manwha are way darker than the ones I have written in my fanfic, but it's truly a masterpiece and it deserves all the love. This work of mine covers the first series.
> 
> "Burn that page for me" follows a storyline which is very similar to the one of the manwha, but is not exactly the same. I made changes and additions, as well as many omissions, because of the dark themes. If you are familiar with the manwha, you will notice that I have cited the exact words for some sentences, although very rarely. This is because I truly think they were the absolute best to convey what was going on at that specific moment.
> 
> The title of the fanfic comes from the lyrics of the song that I have been listening to in loop for the entire time I have written this story, except for chapter 13. The song is "Star Sky" by Two Steps From Hell. 
> 
> I don't have enough words to express my gratitude towards [lorelai_walker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorelai_walker), who shouted at me and supported me from the very beginning, as well as proofreading for me to quell my neverending doubts about my English skills in writing.  
> And [EmHunter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmHunter/pseuds/EmHunter) for always, always supporting me and listening to me and being one of the most amazing authors and persons I have the honour to know.
> 
> I hope you will enjoy this story as much as I love it.

_The Prince has been found.  
_ _Or rather, he let them find him._

_I think he felt they were getting close to him, so he chose the conditions to reveal himself. A market square full of people, right in front of the guards, declaring loud and clear his name and who he was. And of course, there were his features._

_Clever._

_With so many witnesses, the Palace has its hands tied. They can’t make him disappear now that everyone knows he has been found. The King is displeased; he hates not to have the upper hand. I have to be most careful._

_Only the gods know if this cleverness will be enough for the Prince to survive once he lives in the Palace._

_If not, I guess there will be indeed no hope for this Royal Family, or the realm._

_________________  
  


Victor Nikiforov, Prince of Leglein, was in the garden behind the Palace, lazily splayed on the branch of a tree, one leg left swinging in the empty air beneath him. He was tall, with a lean muscular frame and broad shoulders, long silver-coloured hair left free to fall on his shoulders and back, and dazzling eyes which resembled the shades of the sea. The 19-years-old man was wearing simple clothes, more suitable for a peasant than for a Prince and he was holding a stalk of grass between his lips, humming a melody softly. 

Prince Victor looked in all and for all as he didn’t have a single care in the world, his only wish to enjoy the warm sun of early Spring.

“Your Highness, I’m begging you. You have to come down and dress appropriately,” the young maid said for the tenth time, on the verge of tears now. “You are supposed to be with your tutor shortly.” 

“Don’t care,” Victor said in a cheerful voice, without releasing the stalk of grass from his mouth. “I didn’t ask for a tutor. I don’t want to have one. I don’t need or like to learn anything about the Palace or how things work around here. You should go and have a cup of tea instead.”

“Your Highness, _please_ -,” the maid insisted, with a note of panic. She was interrupted by another voice, much more profound and intense, coming from the path behind her.

“What is happening here?”

  
The maid froze in horror, and she fell on her knees even before she entirely turned towards the man who had just spoken, her forehead touching the grass.

“Y-Your Majesty, I- I was trying to-,”

Whatever the panicked girl wanted to say was interrupted by a dry, unimpressed tsk.

King Dmitry Nikiforov was an imposing man. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a strong frame, evident even under the many layers of his rich garments. He had long, silver-coloured hair, styled in braids on the sides of the head, leaving the rest falling freely on his back. A golden band, twisted in a complicated pattern that resembled climbing brambles, lied on his head. The King’s sea-coloured eyes looked bored when they briefly brushed on the maid prostrated on the ground and the boy on the tree.

“What a waste of time. The boy has lived as a rat for years; no wonder he has no sense of propriety or manners.” King Dmitry began to walk again, the armed guards surrounding him moving in unison to follow with a clang of metal from the armours. “He is useless like his mother was,” were his final words.

Victor had kept his eyes towards the sky as if the ongoing conversation did not concern him and had utterly ignored the King. But at the last words, he shot up in a seated position on the branch, eyes darting with fury.

“What did you say?” Victor nearly hissed, jumping nimbly on the ground. The moment after he was on his feet and walking towards the King in sure strides, hands clenched in fists. The guard closest to Victor was already moving to stop him. “What did you just say about my mother, you bast-”

Victor’s tirade was interrupted abruptly by a soft voice coming from his left.

“I’m sorry for keeping you waiting, Your Grace. I was admiring a flower and lost track of time.”

Victor blinked, frozen on the spot. 

The most beautiful boy he had ever seen was approaching calmly, walking with uncommon grace and dignity towards the group of people. He was shorter than Victor and undoubtedly younger, even if not much. His frame was lean and gracious. His hair was as black as the purest ink and slicked back; his eyes were huge, soft brown with golden sparks moving in it, and surrounded by a pair of blue-rimmed glasses. He had delicate features that softened his serious and composed expression, plush lips set in a straight line. His body was wrapped in black trousers and a white shirt with a high collar, on top of which laid a short black cape with a golden pin to keep it close, with the royal coat of arms engraved. The way the boy was moving was mesmerising, and Victor didn’t seem able to stop staring at him.

When he walked between Victor and the guard, the boy glanced sideways for a moment, and the Prince felt pinned under the intensity of his gaze. The moment after, the boy reached the King, his head bowing gently.

“Your Grace, please excuse the Prince for his behaviour. He is merely adjusting to his new life. I am sure he did not mean any offence.”

His voice was like music, the tone so soft it was a wonder anybody around him could hear what he was saying, and at the same time, it was impossible to ignore. 

The expression on the King’s face turned from annoyed to tender, a hand possessively landing on the small of the boy’s back. Without another word, the King waved a hand to dismiss the whole situation, starting walking towards the Palace with the boy on his side, the guards following.

Victor was still staring when the boy turned his head to look at him over his shoulder, without the slightest hesitation in his steps. His dark, deep gaze locked with Victor’s as he was assessing him. 

Ignoring the shaken sigh coming from the maid who was getting up from the ground, Victor remembered the last words his mother told him.

_Stay away from the Palace and do not ever touch anything that belongs to the King._

_________________  
  


Leglein was a prosperous kingdom, blessed with lively commerce and rich territories where crops grew abundant. It was not free from inequalities, poor people begging for food or money scattered through the capital and everywhere else around the kingdom, but the population was generally happy, and it was well looked after by the Ministers.

But Leglein didn’t have a benevolent King.

There were rumours whispered in the dark for fear of reprisals. Talks about the King’s cruelty towards those who disappointed him and about his detachment from every issue his people could endure. 

And the darkest of all: the King’s unhealthy obsession for the young son of his Minister for the Foreign Affairs. Whispers told how the King always wanted the boy sitting close to him while eating, how he often requested for his company while walking in the garden.  
The well-informed swore that no hand had been laid on the boy yet, but that the King was only waiting for him to come to age.

The boy was going to turn 18 in Winter.

Everyone in the Palace knew the boy. His demeanour was unusual for his age: his bearing was always measured, his movements posed. He carried himself with the grace of a dancer and just a hint of sensuality in his steps. He hardly ever smiled. His eyes, which were so deep that people often felt uneasy if confronted with his gaze, looked like pools of unfathomable depth, impossible to decipher. “They dig a hole in your soul,” it’s what the servants in the Palace told anyone willing to listen. “It’s like he’s continuously assessing everyone and everything,” they continued.

Not that the boy often met somebody else’s gaze.  
His eyes were usually respectfully pointed sideways on the floor, particularly when he was with the King. At the table, he hardly ever raised his eyes from the plate, eating with a composure that had left astonished more than one guest.  
And he never wore anything else but black tailored trousers, a white shirt with high collar and the short black cape on his shoulders, closed with the golden engraved pin.

Because that was what the King wanted.  
Because those were the clothes that stated how the boy was a King’s possession.  
He was since his father had been appointed Minister of the Foreign Affairs three years prior and the King had requested his son to come to the Palace as well.

_________________  
  


The boy and the man met in one of the Palace’s sitting rooms just after lunch was done.

“So… how are you, son?”

“I’m very well, father. The Palace looks after me impeccably.”

He saw the grimace on his father’s face, the pain and the fear visible in his eyes for a brief moment. 

“Your mother is worried sick for you, son. And your sister-”

“You do not have to worry, father. Please reassure mother and Mari about my wellbeing.”

He felt his father’s hands clasp his shoulders, trembling. The man’s face dropped, split between shame and helplessness. 

“Son, I-”

A door opened behind his father, and a guard entered.

“Minister Katsuki, the King demands your presence immediately.”

His father’s eyes widened in shock. 

“Now? But- but I have just met my son-”

The boy felt sorry for his father. The man was trapped, exactly like him.

“It’s ok, father. You should not make the King wait.”

He offered a smile, stepping back gently, removing himself from the grasp of his father’s hands. He looked distantly at the arms of the man falling back at his sides, defeated.

“I will see you soon, son.”

“Most certainly, father.”

_________________  
  


The boy was walking back towards his chambers, a book held in the crook of his arm and against his chest. A colonnade ornamented the massive corridor on both sides, and even his soft steps echoed in the empty space.

“Wait.”

The voice called from behind him, and the boy stopped. He slowly turned his face towards the source of the call, his upper body twisting to accommodate the movement without making a full turn. Hazelnut eyes calmly took in the figure of the Prince coming to sight from behind one of the columns.

“Your Highness,” the boy said in his musical voice. “What are you doing here?”

The Prince moved closer, something hesitant in his movements. The boy merely watched him approaching, entirely at ease.

“Why are you always with the King?” The young man inquired with a strange note in his voice, something between curiosity and distaste.

The boy diverted his eyes slowly. There was no shame or nervousness in the gesture, practised and easy like breathing for him. It was not submission either; he simply felt more comfortable without looking people in the eye.

“His Highness should study something about the Palace. If he weren’t avoiding his tutor, he would probably have the answer already,” the boy answered with a soft smile. There was no hostility nor contempt in his voice.

The Prince seemed taken aback for a moment, his blue eyes open wide, a rose blush spread on his nose and his mouth gaping. The young man looked like words were desperately failing him.

“Now if you would excuse me, Your Highness,” the boy said after a moment, starting to turn to walk away.

“Wait, please-,” the Prince said in a hurry, and moved forward in a rush, one arm stretched ahead, the hand aiming at grasping the boy’s wrist.

The boy proved himself faster. With a couple of easy steps backwards, as elegant as if he was dancing, he moved beyond the Prince's reach and turned completely to face the young man now, his free hand holding a flap of his cape between the tips of his fingers, as a lady would have kept the hem of her dress.

For a moment, everything froze around the two of them facing each other, hazelnut calm eyes into startled blue ones. The Prince was still bent forward with his arm stretched.

“If I recall correctly, Your Highness,” the boy broke the silence first, his soft voice composed, “you swore upon arrival at the Palace to never touch any of the King’s possessions.”

“Is that what you are? One of the King’s possessions?” The Prince’s voice was vibrant with anger. 

Unperturbed, the boy lifted the flap of the cape still held between his fingers, as he wanted to show it properly.

“This is the symbol of me being the King’s possession, Your Highness.”

“Why don’t you take it off?” the Prince retorted, his eyes flashing.

The boy’s smile was indulgent and tender, as to explain something to a stubborn child who refused to understand the simplest of the rules.

“I can’t, Your Highness. It’s not up to me to do this. Only the King can.”

“Then help me become the King.”

The silence that followed was deafening. The boy lowered his hand slowly, leaving the cape fluttering back in neat folds, arm resting on his side. He cocked his head slightly, eyes appraising the Prince’s figure in front of him. His gaze ran down and up the young man’s body, slowly, methodically, and then stopped again in his eyes.

The Prince blushed fiercely, one hand running through his long silver hair, his gaze falling on the shabby clothes he was wearing. When he lifted back his eyes, there was resolution in them.  
  
“Help me. Teach me,” the Prince said in a low voice. “I want to become the King, save this Kingdom and its people from this tyrant.” A pause. “I want to take that cape off your shoulders.”

Once again, silence fell. The boy took his time to think about it. Eventually, he spoke.

“I would suggest you to start changing your attire, Your Highness,” he said, with just a hint of amusement in his voice.

Then, the boy bowed his head and turned to leave, soft steps sounding again in the corridor.

“Please, tell me your name.”

The boy stopped at the pledging request and looked back above his shoulder. The Prince was still on the same spot, his eyes burning with determination.

The boy smiled softly, his eyes gleaming.

“When the Prince will ask, I won’t have any choice but to answer,” he said sweetly, before walking away without another glance behind him.

_________________  
  


A few days after that encounter, the boy was walking in the same corridor when he noticed a figure leaning against one of the columns, waiting. His steps didn’t falter, as he knew who he was: the silver hair was too easy to recognise, as it was the piercing blue of his eyes, now full of mischievous amusement. 

The boy had to force himself to prevent his eyes from openly rolling at the sight of the Prince dressed with part of his formal attire on top of an old, worn-out shirt and a loose pair of trousers. The young man was grinning widely, showing a smugness entirely out of place.

“Your Highness,” the boy acknowledged softly, barely taking a sidelong glance.

The Prince opened his arms to show off what he was wearing. “Not bad, mh? Are you impressed? Even if I have to admit I haven’t noticed a significant change in the servants’ behaviour towards me. I seriously don’t get the point of this dressing up if nothing changes.”

The boy let a sigh escape his lips, a hand went to his forehead, slender fingers threading through his slicked-back black locks. His eyes closed briefly behind the lenses of the glasses.

“Come with me, Your Highness, please,” he said after a moment, without stopping his walking. He didn’t miss the pout on the Prince’s face, but the other man followed him without question.

They walked in a maze of corridors for long minutes, the Prince chirpily chatting and the boy enduring in silence, his composure imperturbable. Eventually, they reached the doors of a massive room full of wardrobes. The boy waited for the Prince to enter before closing the doors behind them.

With an elegant wave of the arm, the boy indicated to the Prince where to stand, while he went rummaging inside the different wardrobes, piling robes and accessories on a chair nearby.

“What you have to understand, Your Highness,” the boy started, coming back to the Prince, “is that it’s not enough to wear something. You have to dress with a purpose.” He stopped in front of the Prince, pulling a pair of soft, white leather gloves from the pocket of his trousers. While putting them on, the boy looked up at the older man through his black eyelashes. “Do not worry, Your Highness. I will be careful not to touch you.”

The Prince jolted visibly in front of him at those words and seemed on the verge to say something. However, something like understanding passed in his eyes, and the boy felt a surge of approval when the Prince chose to remain in silence.

The boy set to work after that: he took the clothes he had chosen one at the time, and he put them in front of the Prince, checking the measurement.

“Your purpose is to look like a Prince,” he said in his soft, musical voice, and proceeded in taking off what the Prince was wearing one layer at a time, replacing the old clothes with proper royal attire. There was no embarrassment nor hesitation in his gestures, as he was dressing a mannequin instead of the living body of a handsome young Prince.

He explained everything to the Prince during each step, buttoned-up white dress shirt followed by matching white trousers to tuck into the boots. The boy’s voice was professional and efficient, explaining the importance of every single piece of clothing, from the vest to the cuffs, from the colour of the sash to the position of the emblem. The Prince listened intently, asking some questions from time to time and absorbing the answers greedily. The boy’s eyes never raised from what his hands were doing.

“And now, Your Highness, please step here, I need to drape your cloak,” the boy said, holding a heavy, soft red cloak trimmed with fur.

Once he was ready, the Prince turned towards the big mirror in the room to admire the final result. Glancing from under his eyelashes, the boy felt something twitching inside his stomach: the Prince looked stunning, the true embodiment of royalty. The colours of the formal attire made his features stand out, especially the piercing blue of his eyes. But it wasn’t just that. It was more as if the Prince saw himself for the first time, his bearing already surer, his shoulders more straightened, his chin held higher.

The Prince looked at the boy through the mirror, his gaze intense. There was a silent question in his eyes. The boy smiled, the softest curve of his lips now visible.

_When the Prince will ask, I won’t have any choice but to answer,_

“Yuuri Katsuki,” he said gently. “My name is Yuuri Katsuki, Your Highness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art above is the only one I have made for this story, at least for now. I really wanted to show them to you. 
> 
> The story is complete and updates every Sunday.


	2. Summer I

_Victor was a happy boy who was leading a wonderful life. He lived in a big house in the countryside, one hour by carriage away from the Capital, with his mother and servants who were like family. They had seen him grow and flourish in the 12-years-old little lord he was now and treated both him and his mother with the utmost respect._

_To be fair, it was effortless to love his mother._

_Lady Alexandra was a woman who carried herself with incomparable dignity. She was strict, but never unjust, and that always earned the respect of everyone who had to deal with her. She lowered herself when it was needed, but servile, she was not._

_And for ten years, she had opposed the King’s order for her to live in the Palace._

_Victor was born out of marriage; therefore, his right to the throne was fragile at best. Not that he or his mother cared about it at all. But he possessed the royal family’s features and there laid the problem. The King had been all but sparse of lovers during his life, and his bastard children were scattered across the whole Kingdom. Some were born with silver-coloured hair, others with sea-blue eyes._

_But very few were born with both, something that shouted to the world the clear belonging to the royal family, making them suitable to be an heir.  
_ _And even fewer of them were still alive._

_The First Prince, the legitimate son of the King who lived in the Palace, had taken after his father in terms of cruelty and contempt for anyone below his rank. He had sent spies to all parts of the kingdom in search of potential threats to his right to the Throne, his stepbrothers, and had them systematically eliminated._

_The First Prince knew about Victor, of course, but the boy was out of his reach. Lady Alexandra was a very clever woman: the house where she lived was surrounded by open land on three sides and a cliff overlooking a deep lake on the fourth, so it was impossible to come close to the building unnoticed. And she had personally hired all her servants and guards from the very beginning, from trusted families and after thorough research. All of them were fiercely loyal to the Lady and her son and formed an impenetrable human barrier around them._

_There was no way a spy or an assassin could slipper through that line of defence._

_*****_

_One day, Victor was reading in his room when he heard a commotion coming from the front of the house. Intrigued, the boy left the book on his bed and peeked from his window: servants wearing the Palace’s uniforms were unloading piles and piles of presents from a massive wagon, while a man dressed in much more delicate clothing was talking with his mother._

_When Victor reached the ground floor and the outside, the nobleman moved his eyes on him and bowed respectfully. Victor returned the bow because he had been raised properly._

_His mother was reading a message in silence; when she was done, she returned the paper to the nobleman without a word. The man bowed again and turned to his horse, the servants already on the wagon. After a few minutes, Victor, Lady Alexandra and their servants were alone in front of the house, the dust caused by the departure settling back on the ground._

_His mother remained silent for a long time, before ordering the servants to take all the presents, neatly wrapped in the colours of the Royal Family, down to the basement._

_Once alone, Victor finally asked. “What was that about, mother?”_

_Lady Alexandra let out an angry chuckle before turning towards Victor, looking at him with a determined gaze in her green eyes._

_“The King wants us to go to the Palace. Again. He sent all those presents along with an invitation to be at the Palace in two days.” She sniffed disdainfully. “An invitation. An order, that’s it.”_

_Victor knew the King was his father; his mother had always been honest with him. The boy knew that what the King wanted had nothing to do with him. King Dmitry found intriguing the stubborn refusal Lady Alexandra had always opposed to him: it made her the perfect prey to chase._

_Victor didn’t know, of course, but in the Capital, the rumours always wondered how come the King was still trying after ten years. He wasn’t a patient man, and such a display of perseverance was unusual._

_“What do you want to do, mother?” Victor asked, feeling a bit nervous._

_Lady Alexandra smiled at her son and caressed his silver hair gently. “I told you, Victor. A one night stand can not tell me what to do with my life. Now come in, it’s time for dinner.”_

_****_

_The fire started in the middle of the night._

_Victor was woken with a start by his mother, who rushed inside his room, slamming the door open. Without wasting a moment, she took Victor by the arm and dragged him to the balcony of the master bedroom. The waters of the lake were calm beneath them, but an orange glow illuminated the sky with a ghostly light._

_“Mother, what is going on?” Victor shouted terrified._

_Lady Alexandra turned them, so Victor’s back was facing the lake. Her eyes were full of fear, but her voice was firm._

_“Victor, listen to me. I want you to live, and to do this you have to be careful, you have to hide. Go where nobody will notice you, where nobody cares. Be always on your guard. And most of all, Victor, remember-,” she pulled him fiercely in a strong embrace, kissing his hair, then pushed him at arm’s length, her hands on his shoulders and her eyes digging holes in Victor’s._

_“Stay away from the Palace and do not ever touch anything that belongs to the King.”_

_Victor didn’t have the chance to reply, to act. The next moment, flames engulfed the door of the master bedroom and spread alarmingly fast._

_Lady Alexandra lifted Victor from under the armpits, and with all her might, she threw him over the balcony railing towards the lake. All Victor could see was his mother's face surrounded by smoke, her tender smile and her lips forming an inaudible I love you before he hit the dark waters._

_Then everything went dark._

_****_

_The King held a royal funeral and issued a speech full of love and sadness for Lady Alexandra, who was supposed to join him in the Palace that same day.  
_ _He begged to have any news about Prince Victor, whose body hadn’t been found: the King and the First Prince very much hoped he was alive and prayed him to reach out to the Palace._

_When the final investigation about the fire in Lady Alexandra’s house ended, the rumours carried out the news that the fire had started in the basement._

_________________

The carriage jolted from a hole in the road, and Victor nearly fell on the floor. He recovered just in time, the muscles of his body snapping in pure instinct. Clearing his throat, a slightly rose blush of embarrassment covering the bridge of his nose, the Prince sat properly, abandoning his previous lying position. In front of him, Yuuri did not even look up from the sheets he was reading.

They were travelling to Vastal, a neighbouring Duchy of Leglein, to solve a diplomatic situation on behalf of the Palace. 

Victor put his elbow on the carriage window and rested his chin on his hand, watching the outside world passing by, the green of the vegetation vibrant in the gorgeous Summer weather. He wasn’t stupid: sending the bastard Prince, who everyone knew had never been trained to deal with diplomatic and foreign affairs, to solve a delicate situation with the Duke was a clear indication that the King didn’t care much about the issue. To be completely honest, it was rather insulting.

“The Duke will probably refuse to grant us an audience.” Yuuri’s musical voice broke the silence as he had read Victor’s mind, his slender fingers turning yet another paper, his eyes circled by the glasses focused on the words written. “A member of the royal family travelling without escort and a spokesperson speaks volume about the King’s commitment.”

Victor, who had turned his eyes to Yuuri when the boy had started talking, looked back on the outside with a sigh. “I figured it. We will be lucky if the Duke will let us approach his house at all.” There was a moment of silence, then the Prince’s expression soured. “That old bastard truly doesn’t care about anyone or anything but himself.”

“Language, Your Highness,” Yuuri reprimanded gently but firmly, without shifting his attention. 

Victor bucked his head, a hand coming to massage the side of his neck. He glanced subtly towards the boy sitting in front of him. Yuuri was wearing his usual clothes, and Victor couldn’t stop a surge of bile when he took in the black cape and the engraved pin closing it. 

The Prince had to plant his nails in his palm to control his instinct to bend forward and tear off the offensive fabric from the boy's shoulders.

Yuuri’s black hair was slicked back, only one rebel tuft falling on his forehead, brushing the skin gently above the frame of the glasses. Victor’s nails dug even deeper, the urge to reach out and put the tuft back in place nearly overwhelming.

“Say, Yuuri-,” Victor said to distract himself from those thoughts. Yuuri lifted his eyes to meet Victor’s, otherwise remaining perfectly still. Victor swallowed visibly when those pools of brown depth enriched by golden sparks focused on him, unfathomable. “Why did you come with me? I was the only one commissioned for this journey.”

Yuuri kept his gaze on the Prince, unperturbed. “I gave up my vacation to join you, Your Highness. Just in case you should embarrass yourself. I might be able to dab the damage.”

Victor rolled the words in his mind, trying to understand if he should feel insulted. The truth was, Yuuri could tell him anything, and he still would feel grateful the boy spoke to him in the first place. Victor coughed pointedly, scowling. But Yuuri had already turned his attention back to the papers.

“Shall we go through the facts once again, Your Highness?”

How was it that Yuuri’s voice was so warm, calm and polite, while his demeanour was always cold and controlled, so much more mature than it should be at his age? The Prince bit his lower lip for a moment, putting the question aside for another moment.

“Vastal’s economy is based on agriculture. They must pay taxes in proportion to the profit of the harvest. In the past year, Vastal has paid far fewer taxes than it owed, alleging unforeseen problems that have harmed the crops,” Victor recollected, turning once again his attention on the outside, eyes unfocused. “But we have received words that no such thing happened, and this is in truth a stance, an act of protest against the Palace. Therefore, we- I have been sent to Vastal to meet the Duke and solve the impasse.”

Yuuri nodded, finally placing the sheets on his lap and bringing his full attention to Victor.

“Duke Chulanont is a wise man. His people love him because he always acts with their best interests in mind. It is unlikely that he will endanger the Duchy unless it is the ultimate weapon, his last available choice,” Yuuri chimed in. “He knows the game played in the Palace very well and is well acquainted with a good number of influential figures inside and outside Leglein. Put it plainly, he is a man you want to have as an ally and not as an enemy, despite Vastal being a small territory.” 

Yuuri tapped the tip of his finger on the papers in his lap, without watching them. “Duke Chulanont could potentially raise the bar: quite a lot of Leglein’s provisions come from Vastal. He alone can not starve the Capital, but he can surely put a strain on it.”

The same tip of the finger came up to push back the glasses on the bridge of Yuuri’s nose, his eyes never leaving Victor. “Which is why the Palace is reluctant to enter into open conflict but does not want to bow to the pressure either.” A heartbeat of silence. “Hence why they are sending you.”

Victor had absorbed Yuuri’s words in silence, his upper body still turned to the outside, but sea-blue focused eyes sideways on Yuuri. “It seems likely we are going there for nothing,” the Prince said, tilting his head, his long silver hair catching the light of the sun.

Yuuri smiled softly with knowing eyes. “Luckily, Duke Chulanont is not the only person we can talk to.”

_________________

“Master Yuuri! What an unexpected pleasure. Welcome to Vastal.”

Victor blinked rapidly at the cheerful voice, trying his best to maintain a polite facade. 

A bubbly young man, who most likely took great pleasure by wearing the flashiest clothes available in the whole continent, had welcomed them outside the Duke’s mansion. Layers of silk in red and gold wrapped his lithe body, and soft gold glitter brushed his tanned skin. His black hair was combed to one side, and it was so shiny that it probably had oil on it. Kajal underlined his black, intelligent eyes. He looked younger than Yuuri, but it was difficult to be sure because of the make up. The young man hadn’t stopped beaming since they had arrived, immediately taking possession of Yuuri’s hands in his own.

“Please allow me to apologise for my father: he is indisposed and can not receive you at the moment. But you are more than welcome to stay and recover from the long journey.”

Yuuri bowed, his hands still in the other man’s grip. “You are most generous, Your Lordship.”

Victor glared towards their clasped hands and repressed an unpleasant feeling that stirred in his stomach. The young Prince tried hard to remain silent and composed, but eventually, he couldn’t help but interject.

“You have to know each other well if you call Yuuri by his first name.” 

The Prince aimed for being casual, but he knew he had spectacularly failed when Yuuri rolled his eyes. 

“Do stop focusing on the most needless things, Your Highness,” the boy dismissed, turning towards his host. “Your Lordship, may I present you Victor Nikiforov, Prince of Leglein?” Then, towards Victor, “Your Highness, this is Lord Phichit Chulanont, the only son of Duke Chulanont of Vastal.”

Phichit’s gaze turned on Victor, taking him in properly for the first time. A curious smile curved his lips, something resembling an amused smirk. “I am most honoured to make your acquaintance, Your Highness.”

Victor returned the silent examination and bowed slightly, stiffed, mindful of being a guest in someone else's territory. 

“The pleasure is mine, Lord Chulanont.”

Phichit’s smile was blinding. Yuuri sighed.  
While Victor followed the servants inside the mansion, Phichit held back Yuuri by an arm, lowering his voice in a whisper.

“You did not tell me he was so handsome!”

“That is not the point, and you know that.”

“I know it is not the point, but it is an undeniable fact, is it not?”

Yuuri didn’t answer, unwilling to fuel the other man’s antics.

“All right, all right," Phichit relented. "On a more serious note, what do you want to do?”

“Stick to the plan.”

“Are you sure he will be up to it?” 

There was a note of worry in Phichit’s voice, but Yuuri refused to acknowledge it.

“I am letting my instincts lead me, rather than my reason.”

“And?”

“He is the only option.” 

“I worry about you.”

“I know. I promise I will be careful.”


	3. Summer II

After showing them to their chambers, located in a section of the mansion at the opposite side of where the Duke had his own, Phichit took Victor and Yuuri to the dining room, where a sumptuous tea was ready on the table. Servants were buzzing everywhere, but they were careful not to come too close to the Lord and his guests unless required.

Victor had a hard time maintaining his composure. Phichit took great pleasure in flirting openly with Yuuri while asking the boy about how he had been. Yuuri, for his part, remained unperturbed all the time, sipping his tea with impeccable manners and answering politely, with a soft smile on his lips.

Victor snapped more than once, mostly when Phichit glanced at him with a sweet smile while taking liberties with Yuuri, like touching his arm or leaning a little too much into the boy’s personal space. Every single time, Phichit laughed, and Yuuri asked the Prince to please mind his language, not even sparing a glance to him.

Victor was sure he was in hell, and his mood was sour when he and Yuuri finally retreated in their chambers after taking their leave from the Lord. They walked in silence behind a servant, who left them with a courteous bow once they were in front of Victor’s door, Yuuri’s slightly further away on the opposite side of the corridor. Victor was ready to bid Yuuri good night and shut himself in his rooms, basking in his bad mood, when the boy unexpectedly talked.

“A word, Your Highness.”

Without waiting for Victor’s answer, Yuuri pushed the door to the Prince’s apartments and went inside, moving directly towards the sofas. Victor blinked and followed him, shutting the door behind his back. He approached the sitting area slowly, noting how Yuuri was pouring two cups of tea from a ready-made teapot left onto the coffee table and pushing one towards the opposite side of the surface. When the boy sat on one sofa, his cup and saucer graciously held in his slender fingers, Victor did the same on the other one facing Yuuri. He didn’t touch the tea, though, leaning slightly forward and resting his elbows on his knees, hands left dangling between his legs, his sea-blue eyes trained carefully on Yuuri.

After a moment, the clink of the cup on the saucer broke the silence and Yuuri’s eyes focused on Victor.

“Your Highness, you have to learn how to control yourself,” Yuuri started. There was no irritation in his voice nor judgement. Yuuri crossed his legs with elegance, resting the saucer on top of his knee, held still with his left hand. The right went up, index finger pushing back his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “We are here knowing we are unwanted. If you were the one who didn’t want to receive someone, how do you think you would react if that someone were to talk to whoever you sent in your place like you did with Lord Phichit today?”

Victor mulled the question in his mind. “Doesn’t it make any difference that I am a member of the royal family?”

Yuuri shook his head slowly, closing his eyes for a moment. “It does not.” Those big, brown, far too serious eyes opened again, looking straight at Victor through the lenses of the glasses. “We are here to beg to be listened to by the Duke. We are the weak part, the one that has to win that right and to do so, words and manners are our only weapons.”

Victor groaned and leaned back against the back of the sofa, opening his arms wide to rest on top of it, head tilted back and eyes closed. His long silver hair spread around him. “Why bother? The Duke doesn’t want to see us and Lord Phichit is more interested in provoking me than in helping us obtain a meeting. It’s pointless.”

Yuuri arched one of his perfect eyebrows at Victor’s words. Instead of answering, he leaned forward to place the saucer and the cup on the coffee table and raised. He walked towards one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, stopping in front of it and lacing his hands behind his back. Victor followed his movements only by turning his head on his side.

“You led a group of orphans for years, Your Highness,” Yuuri said with a gentle tone of voice, still giving his back to Victor. The Prince shot sitting, his eyes widening in shock. Before he could ask Yuuri how he knew about it, the boy went on. “You took responsibility for them. You made sure that they had food, that they didn’t risk too much for primary necessities such as a roof on their head.” 

A short pause, then Yuuri turned his back to the window, movements so elegant it looked like he was dancing. His hands were still laced behind his back, and the light of the setting sun behind him enveloped Yuuri in a halo of fire. 

“You did not do it to have something in exchange, Your Highness. You did it because it was the right thing to do. This is no different. The people of Vastal, they need protection from the Palace and its claims. They need to be heard, and their voice is the Duke. Do you want to be the one listening?” 

Victor felt pinned under Yuuri’s eyes and words. He couldn’t divert his attention from the boy. It was as if a superior force was sucking him through those unfathomable pools of brown and gold.

“Your words show who you are. The way you talk, the way you act. They mirror your soul. You have to be mindful of the words you use and how you pronounce them. You have to be careful about how you move. Your duty,” and Yuuri walked a few steps towards Victor, hands breaking the position when one came gently forward in a silent request, Victor moving to raise slowly, “is to act like a Prince. And a Prince carries himself with poise and grace, knows when and how to talk depending on who his interlocutor is. And looks people in the eyes when he speaks to them, because-”

There was a pause in Yuuri’s lecture when his eyes met Victor’s. The Prince was staring at him intensely, drinking every word, every movement, as if his life depended on them. Yuuri stared back, his eyes slightly wider than usual. 

Time seemed to freeze around them for seconds that felt like an eternity while they looked into each other eyes, so close they could have touched if one had raised an arm. Then, Yuuri diverted his face on a side, breaking the eye contact, black strands coming down to cover his eyes. 

“-because it is most rude to make your eyes wander during a conversation,” the boy finished. After a moment, Yuuri looked back at Victor, entirely composed, and raised his hands to fix the Prince’s shirt, which was twisted around his neck. “You have a piercing gaze, Your Highness. That is a weapon in itself, and you can use it to obtain what you want. You are a member of the Royal family of Leglein and nobody can take it away from you. You just have to be sure to remind the right people about it.”

Victor remained perfectly still until Yuuri’s hands retreated and the boy walked past him, heading to the door. The Prince turned on himself to look at him, not a word leaving his lips. With a hand on the door’s handle, Yuuri spoke again, turning his head to look at Victor over his shoulder.

“When you are in doubt, ask yourself what Lady Alexandra would have done.”

Victor startled, and a gasp left his mouth. His eyes became impossibly wide, words failing him. Yuuri smiled the softest smile, his eyes gentle.

“You are her son, Your Highness. Don’t let anyone take it from you either.”

With those last words, Yuuri nodded in goodbye and left the rooms.

  
_________________  
  
  


_The First Prince’s obsession for his half-siblings went out of control in the following years, and with the King not caring in the slightest, it became a bloodbath that stretched all over the kingdom, even threatening the neighbouring ones._

_Not everyone was willing to let the situation go on in silence. However, when the Ministers and the people that tried to talk sense into the First Prince were killed, someone decided to take the matter in their own hands._

_***_

_“It’s gone too far.”  
  
_

_“Indeed. We have to stop him.”_

_“But he never leaves the Palace, he’s too paranoid for this.”_

_“It has never been a problem.”_

_***_

_On a cold morning of Winter, the First Prince Alexiei Nikiforov collapsed during his breakfast. The rumours said it had been a horrible sight to behold. Poison, the stories told._

_The King held a royal funeral and spoke words about how sad it was to lose such a young Prince, and that the Palace would not leave any stone unturned to find the culprit._

_That same night, the King went to a party he had been invited to months prior._

_There were suspicions on some members of the aristocracy of Leglein, Vastal and the other neighbouring kingdoms of Agrye and Asmein, but nobody interrogated them. After merely a few weeks, more exciting rumours spread out, and the First Prince’s death went forgotten. The culprit remained unknown._

_***_

_“Your contact did an excellent job.”_

_“They are professionals.”_

_“We have a problem now, though. The bloodbath has left us with very few choices.”_

_“Yes, the Palace needs an heir.”_

_“We know who is the best candidate, though.”_

_“You mean-”_

_“Yes. We need to find Prince Victor.”_

_“It’s been four years. Do you think he’s still alive?”_

_“Alexiei would have sent proclamations to the four corners of the Kingdoms if he had managed to kill Victor. He hated him with every shred of himself since he couldn't touch him.”_

_“How can we find him?”_

_“Money, of course.”_

_________________

  
Victor slipped out of Lord Phichit’s mansion unnoticed, dressed with the clothes he used to wear during his years spent on the road, his hair tied into a messy bun. 

The Prince smirked: Yuuri probably thought he got rid of those clothes, but Victor knew better. It was easy to blend into the crowd when he was dressed as a peasant because, despite his features, nobody would expect His Royal Highness Prince Victor Nikiforov to walk around without royal garments or at least one or two guards with him.

Victor strolled in the city buzzing with activities and full of loud calls from the market’s stalls, keeping his eyes and ears open. He wanted to understand what was going on in Vastal, and the best way to do it was blending with the people, talk to them. So, when Yuuri had been called in the morning by Lord Phichit for whatever reason, Victor had taken his chance.

Most likely, Yuuri was going to lecture him upon his return.

Victor noticed a wagon in the central square of the city, with servants from the Duke’s mansion busy unloading crates of food and distributing it to people lining ordinately in front of them. Intrigued, he reached the back of the line and inquired a man casually.

“What’s going on here?”

The man turned towards him, frowning. He was probably in his thirties; his clothes were clean but worn out and were hanging on his frame as they were too big for him. Wrinkles furrowed his face, and his hair was in disarray. 

“The Duke is distributing food.”

Victor hummed, his sea-blue eyes moving towards the front of the line to the wagon filled with food. “Does it happen often?”

The other man nodded. “The Duke does his best. May the gods have him in glory, he feeds us at least three times per week, usually affecting the stocks of his mansion.”

Victor whistled softly, impressed. “How does he do that? Doesn’t he have to pay the Palace for the harvest?”

The other man murmured some curses and spat on the ground in contempt. “The Palace! They only care about their stomach and their luxuries. They don’t give a damn about the people.” The man moved an arm in a semicircle. “If it weren’t for the Duke, half of the people you see here wouldn’t be alive. The Duke is risking everything every day, including his safety and his name to give us what we need. What does the King know about what it means not to have to feed your children?” The man’s face turned into a grimace. “He doesn’t even _care_ about his offspring, legitimate or not. If the Queen were still alive, maybe she could have done something, but I guess the fact she died giving birth to the First Prince was already an indication of the kind of bloody bastard he would become.”

Victor remained silent during the whole tirade, paying attention to every single word. When the man paused, he cautiously asked. “But I’ve heard there’s a new Prince at the Palace now.”

“Ah, yes! Prince Victor, the bastard son of the King. He’s just a boy, and nobody knows anything about him apart rumours that want him as a moody teenager too spoilt to care about duties.” 

Victor felt an unpleasant feeling pooling inside him at those words. He’d never thought about how his refusal to have anything to do with the Palace or his father could be interpreted from the outside. Wasn’t it something Yuuri had also mentioned? That the way you act affects what people perceive of you? 

Victor licked his lips, feeling uneasy. “But maybe he’s different. Maybe he’s not like his father.”

The other man made a bitter noise, something between a laugh and a sigh. “It doesn’t matter, does it? He won’t do anything for us, why should he? Why should he care, when he lives in the Palace and doesn’t have a single worry in the world?”

Victor thought of his mother, her smile and her laugh.   
He thought of Yuuri, of that damned black cap on his shoulders, of the seriousness in his eyes.   
He looked at the line of people in front of him, waiting patiently for some food they wouldn’t have otherwise, while the Palace threw away a shocking amount of leftovers daily.

“That’s not quite true, my friend,” Victor said, facing the man once more, patting him on the forearms with his hands. “But thank you. Your honesty was what I needed.”

Victor left the startled man and walked towards the wagon along the line of people, taking in women with infants in tow, children, men, invalids. Many of them returned his gaze with suspicion, probably thinking he was trying to jump the line. It didn’t matter. 

When he was close enough to the wagon, one of the servants raised his eyes and gaped in shock.

“Your Highness, what-”

But Victor only patted him on the shoulder, before jumping on the wagon and turning to face the people in front of him.

“People of Vastal,” he started, raising his voice to overcome the sound of the square. The gazes that turned to him were suspicious, curious, confused. Victor held them all. “People of Vastal, I beg you to listen. My name is Victor Nikiforov, and I am the Prince of Leglein.”

Laughter rang out around him, accompanied by choruses of "and why not King Dmitry himself?" or "boy, did you drink too much wine today?". The mocking sounds, however, quickly subsided as the Duke's servants shook their heads and cast warning glances at those who had spoken. A few of them looked nervously at Victor, fearing his reaction, but the Prince only smiled gently.

“I know you don’t have any reason to believe me. To be honest, why should you? I’m not wearing any royal emblem, nor have I guards with me. And the reason is that my father, the King, regards me as much as he considers you all.” Victor paused, taking in the sudden heavy silence that had fallen on the square. “I’m here to talk to the Duke on behalf of the Palace, but he doesn’t want to meet me. And I can’t fault his decision.”

Victor took a few moments to gather his thoughts before talking again. “I don’t know how familiar you are with my story, but I’m my mothers’ son. Lady Alexandra had always listened to everyone and had dedicated her life to helping whoever needed her. She stood proudly against the King’s order to enter the Palace, and she paid with her life for this, saving mine.” Victor’s eyes roamed on the crowd, head held high. “I was twelve. And I spent the next six years of my life on the roads, begging for food and searching for a roof to protect me when the weather turned bad. I have suffered the hunger and the cold, just as you. I have felt helpless, just like you, and maybe more, because at least you have the Duke that protects you. Please trust me when I say I understand, and I want to make things right.”

There was another pause, and Victor shifted the weight from one foot to the other. And then an image of Yuuri came into his mind, his voice clear as if he was there talking directly in his ear.

_“A Prince carries himself with poise and grace, knows when and how to talk depending on who his interlocutor is. And looks people in the eyes when he speaks to them.”_

So Victor straightened his posture, lacing his hands behind his back and squaring his shoulders. His gaze searched every single one he could meet.

“All I ask is for a chance. Please, let me listen to your concerns and your problems. Let me be your ear and the hand that can right wrongs. I promise,” and Victor’s chin raised in pride, “I will learn, and I will be the bridge between you and the Palace. I will ask the authorities to study the situation and contact the Duke to set an appropriate tax rate. I truly apologize this hasn’t been done before.”

Victor bowed his head in apology after his last words, causing gasps of bewilderment and surprise from the crowd. 

“Now please, let me help distribute the food,” he said to the shocked servants, who were looking at him like he was a ghost. Victor jumped down from the wagon and set himself to work.

  
_________________

It was late afternoon when Victor returned to the mansion with the servants and the empty wagon. He was covered in dust, and his muscles were sore. His hands were covered in scratches, but he’d never felt more grounded, more focused.

The Prince entered his rooms, a hand massaging the side of his neck and his eyes closed, and he pushed the door shut behind him with a sigh. All he wanted was a hot bath and some food; then he would sit at his desk and write everything he had learnt during the day.

Victor opened his eyes and stopped mid-step. Yuuri was in front of the window, back to the outside. He had probably waited there until he had seen Victor coming back. The boy took in his dusty clothes, the scratched hands, the messy hairstyle and sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly.

“Your Highness-.”

But Victor cut him short, feeling an urgency to explain himself, to make Yuuri understand.

“Yuuri, I can explain-.”

There was a knock, and both Victor and Yuuri’s attention went to the door when it opened immediately after. Phichit stood on the threshold with a mysterious smile.

“Your Highness, Master Yuuri. My father, the Duke, would like to invite you to join him for dinner tonight.” The smile turned into a smirk and a mischievous light sparkled in the Lord's eyes. "Apparently, there have been reports from the city that the Prince made quite an impression today. The Duke is rather curious to hear more."

Victor turned his head to look at Yuuri, who blinked a few times, his lips slightly parted in surprise. The Prince smiled and looked back towards Phichit.

“Please, my Lord, tell the Duke we will be honoured to have dinner with him.”

_________________

  
In the middle of the night, with only the moonlight to dimly illuminate the otherwise dark library, two figures met alone. 

“Pray forgive me for being such a poor host.”

“There is no need to, my Lord. After all, you had no reason to welcome us with open arms.”

“You are very gracious.” A pause. “This Prince of yours is an interesting creature.”

“He is still in his raw state.”

“But with proper attention, he can become a diamond. And you are a remarkable young man.”

Silence followed the words at first. Then, “I am well aware you took a risk in letting us stay in your mansion, my Lord. So I assumed you either trusted the Prince or at least trusted me enough to give him a chance.”

“I have known you since you were born. The Prince has proven to be something I didn’t expect. If he manages to keep his promises, then I will not have any reason to doubt anymore.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking, would you like to story to be updated twice per week instead of once?  
> Let me know your thoughts in the comments :)


	4. Autumn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the comments were overwhelmingly in favour of having updates twice per week.  
> I'm absolutely thrilled.  
> Here we go.

_Victor hid his silver hair under the hood of his cloak and set out in a rush. After six years spent on the roads, he knew how to move and where to go to slip unnoticed under the guards’ noses, and he used all his knowledge to move as fast as possible._

_Six years._

_Sometimes, during the most difficult nights, when they couldn’t find enough food, and he let his share to the younger children, the memory of his mother and the life he used to know was still unbearable. But he had learnt to grow quickly. The roads were no place for a little Prince, and even if in the first year he went close to die lots of times, he had endured.  
_ _One skill Victor’s mother had always expected him to learn was resilience, and he had put it in good use. He had overcome the hunger, the cold, the occasional sickness, the danger._

_But he had struggled with loneliness and helplessness._

_So he had started to help other orphans, children nobody cared about. He had taken them with him, had taught them what he knew, how to survive, how to find food with minimum risk. They had learnt how to work like a well-oiled machine, how to cover each other, how to protect the youngest members. And they had survived._

_Victor hadn’t told anyone about his true identity. He didn’t want to put anyone in more danger, so he kept it for himself, carrying alone the burden of having to be even more careful around the guards than the other children. To be on the safe side, he had also put a series of rules the group had to follow, without exception, especially the rule number one._

_Never steal from a royal convoy._

_Victor gritted his teeth, releasing an angry noise that resembled a growl._

_“Whose idea was this?” he asked in a low, dangerous voice to the boy with a contrite expression on his face who was following him closely._

_“M-Mark’s. He said that it was an easy target and the wagon was full of food, so-”_

_“So it was obviously a trap!” Victor snarled, and the boy tucked his head in his shoulders and didn’t reply._

_Victor moved through dirty alleys and passages so narrow that only a child or a lean teenager could slip through and stopped only when he reached the central square of the small town. He took the situation in with one look._

_A wagon full of food was visible in one corner of the square, the bait obvious to Victor’s trained eyes. In the centre of the place, surrounded by a crowd of people that was steadily increasing, stood a patrol of five royal guards. One of them was severely yanking a boy by the arm to lift him off the ground. The boy’s face showed signs of beating, and he was crying._

_“I’m going to ask you one more time: do you know where we can find a teenager with silver hair and blue eyes?” the guard shouted, twisting the boy’s arm and causing him to scream in pain._

_Victor bit the inside of his cheek so hard he felt blood on his tongue.  
_ _Of course.  
_ _He had known they were closing the circle around him._

_For some unknown reason, since the First Prince’s death two years prior the Palace had chased Victor relentlessly, promising a lot of money for information. Apparently, they had eventually managed to buy someone knowledgeable enough to know how to get to him._

_“I don’t know! I don’t know!” the boy screamed, and Victor felt his heart squeezed in a painful vice. Dear loyal Mark. He would probably die, but he would never betray a member of his family._

_Victor couldn’t allow it._

_He turned to the other boy, the one who had called him in alarm and had followed him here.  
_ _“Stephan, I want you to listen very carefully.” Stephan’s head shot up, eyes intent. Victor put his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “You have to take care of the family. You are the oldest after me, and you know everything I know. I have nothing else to teach you. Promise me you will protect the others.”_

_Stephan’s eyes grew big and round. “Victor, what-”_

_“Promise, Stephan!” Victor urged, hearing the sound of metal drawn._

_“Well, let’s see if by cutting one of your hands we can refresh your memory,” the guard sneered behind Victor._

_“Promise, Stephan!”_

_“I promise! I promise!”_

_Victor stood and turned his back to the boy. He strode towards the guards, just when a sword was raised to strike._

_“Stop!” Victor shouted with all the authority he could gather, and the whole square seemed to freeze. The guards looked at him in confusion. “Let him go!”_

_The man who was holding Mark blinked and recovered from the surprise first. “And why should we do that? Who do you think you are?”_

_Victor raised his hands and pulled off the hood of his cape from his head, his silver hair shining in the sunlight, his sea-blue eyes as cold as ice fixed to the guard. “I am the one you are looking for.”_

_The guard gasped and loosened his grip long enough for Mark to escape; the boy ran towards Victor and threw himself at the older man sobbing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry Victor, I’m so sorry-”_

_Victor shushed him gently, caressing his hair, and whispered. “It’s ok, Mark. Now listen. Go to Stephan and leave with him. Don’t look back.” The boy raised his huge eyes, shining in tears and fear. He seemed to want to say something, but Victor cut him off. “It will be fine. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right. Now go.”_

_Victor pushed Mark gently towards Stephan. The boy hesitated for a moment._

_“Go!” Victor said again, more harshly, and Mark startled, before turning and running towards Stephan. Victor and Stephan exchanged a look until the latter nodded slowly._

_Victor turned his back to his family to face the guards. He roamed the crowd with his gaze and smirked. Excellent, they wouldn’t dare hurt him or make him disappear after a public revelation. He pushed up his chin, proud, and spoke loudly and clearly, so everyone in the square could listen. And witness._

_“I am Victor Nikiforov, son of Lady Alexandra Belyakova. I am the Prince you are looking for.”_

_________________

Victor set to work as soon as he and Yuuri were back to the Palace. He gathered the officers in charge of tax rates and sat at the table with them for hours, explaining the situation in Vastal and how they could solve it, as well as what the Duke had proposed. There had been doubts and scepticism, but Victor had rebuked them all with a passion and an insight that surprised many of his interlocutors. 

Eventually, he won: the new agreement with Vastal was ratified by the Minister of Economy the next day and sent to the Duke.

Victor and Yuuri were walking in the Palace side by side, Yuuri with his hands clasped behind his back, and Victor with his hands on his nape, elbows spread out on his side.

“You did it, Your Highness,” Yuuri said in a calm tone of voice, just the hint of a smile on his lips, eyes trained in front of him, walking with the same grace as a cat.

“You told me how to speak to them, Yuuri, and what to say to win their favour. You predicted their grievances and taught me how to counter them.” Victor glanced sideways towards the shorter boy. “I would say you did it.”

Yuuri shook his head slowly. “You were the one who won over the people of Vastal, therefore the Duke’s attention, Your Highness. I have merely suggested how to deal with practicality, but without your impromptu speech, that skill would have been useless.”

Victor was going to answer again when the sound of hurried steps coming from in front of them interrupted both their conversation and their walk. They waited in silence until a servant turned a corner, looking agitated. When he saw Victor and Yuuri, he hurried towards them.

“Master Katsuki, thanks to the gods, I found you. The King wants to see you at once.”

Victor tensed immediately and shot a look at Yuuri, his arms and hands coming down stiff at his sides. Yuuri remained utterly impassive and just nodded gracefully. "I'll come right away."

The servant bowed respectfully to both of them and went back from where he came from.

A moment of tense silence filled the vast corridor.

“Yuuri-,” Victor started, but he couldn’t finish.

 _Don’t go_ , he thought. _Don’t go to him._

Yuuri barely turned his head, looking at Victor out of the corner of his eye. There was no way to understand what he was thinking, his face a mask of composure, but Victor caught a glimpse of something in Yuuri’s eyes, so fast he could have missed it if only he had blinked.

Fear.

Yuuri bowed slightly. “I will see you later, Your Highness,” he said, his voice lower than usual.

Victor watched him walk away, planting his nails painfully in the soft skin of his palms.

_________________

“I heard you sacrificed your vacation to go with the Prince to Vastal. I didn’t know you two were so well-acquainted.”

The King looked displeased, and Yuuri maintained his eyes trained on the King’s face but not on his eyes, respectfully. 

“It was a matter of pure coincidence, Your Grace. I was in the Duchy because Lord Chulanont had requested my presence personally,” Yuuri answered in a soft tone of voice. “I barely saw the Prince, and we just exchanged a gesture of acknowledgement. I am sure Your Grace had heard about how the Prince had talked to the people, and I certainly was not by his side.”

The King narrowed his eyes and studied Yuuri for long minutes, while the boy remained still in perfect composure under the silent exam, one hand clasping the other arm at the elbow behind his back and shoulders straight. 

“Very well. Let us leave it at that, then,” the King eventually said, before raising a hand and bending his fingers, beckoning Yuuri closer. 

The boy approached the King slowly and stopped in front of him, his face turned downwards, and his eyes demurely lowered. He didn’t flinch when the King’s hand raised to enclose his cheek, the thumb caressing under his chin.

“You didn’t forget our agreement, did you, Yuuri?” the King said in a sly, unpleasant tone of voice.

“No, Your Grace.”

The King’s thumb raised to caress Yuuri’s bottom lip, lightly pressing once in the centre and wetting the fingertip in the moisture inside, lingering for a couple of seconds.

“You may go.”

Yuuri waited for the King’s hand to retreat; then he bowed courteously and left. Only when the throne’s room was far behind him, he allowed his hands to tremble violently.

_________________

In the following weeks, Yuuri and Victor spent as much time together as the social conventions allowed. They were often in the presence of other people, but nobody seemed to find strange how the two young men often found themselves in the same room at the same time for the most disparate reasons. 

Yuuri taught Victor about the uses and customs of the Palace and the basics of the relationships between Laglein and the neighbouring countries. Victor learnt to perfect his manners and how to excel in pleasantries. Yuuri was never too evident in his lessons, and he often let slip what he wanted Victor to know in innocuous conversations.

More than once, Victor had the impression that something had rippled the placid and immovable surface that was Yuuri's demeanour. Sometimes, dark circles were visible under the boy’s eyes, as if he struggled to sleep. But every time Victor tried to inquire, Yuuri dismissed his suspicions as nonsense in his usual soft voice and sharp words, sometimes with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

In spite of everything, Yuuri seemed his usual self, yet Victor couldn't shake the idea that something was looming over the boy.

The day a delegation from Asmein arrived, Victor was walking in the garden towards the stables when Yuuri appeared at his side, so suddenly it felt like he came out of nowhere. The Prince startled and turned to look at the boy with wide eyes, but Yuuri looked calm and impeccable as usual, his hands clasped behind his back, the autumn wind moving his hair and the short black cap on his shoulders.

“There will be a dinner in honour of the guests tonight, Your Highness,” Yuuri said, his eyes wandering into the garden immersed in the colours of dying leaves, some trees already bare. 

Victor kept his attention to the boy, frowning. He knew about the dinner, of course: as this was an official visiting delegation, members of the royal family traditionally had to be all present, and this included the Prince. Not that Victor was thrilled to have dinner with his father, but it certainly wasn't a surprise to him. Why was Yuuri talking about it?

Victor was about to ask when Yuuri seemed to snap out his reverie, and he brought his face forward again, his gaze sidelong on the Prince. “The King wants me to be there as well.” A pause. “At his side.”

Victor felt a rush of bile run into his stomach, and for a moment, he couldn’t hear anything else but the drumming of his furious heart in his ears. It took a considerable effort for him to realise that Yuuri was still speaking, and to concentrate on his words.

“-control yourself, whatever the situation.” Yuuri kept his gaze in front of him, unaware of the storm raging inside Victor. Or perhaps heedless. “It is imperative, Your Highness. You must not stir troubles.” The boy’s voice was calm, his posture controlled and elegant as always. 

Victor dug his nails into his palms, squeezing as hard as he could. “Of course,” were the only words he said.

_________________

  
The servants swarmed around the table, bringing food and filling jugs. King Dmitry sported a bored expression on his face and did not seem at all interested in what was happening around him, while Yuuri, seated on the right side of the King, kept his eyes modestly lowered to his plate, eating in silence. Victor’s gaze was stubbornly on the guests, pretending to be interested in their chatter. The effort not to look towards Yuuri was requiring all his concentration.

At the beginning of the evening, an awkward silence had followed the King’s arrival accompanied by the boy. Yuuri had walked past Victor without sparing a single glance to the Prince, moving gracefully behind the King. No one had dared to ask anything, and soon a stiff conversation had started, breaking the heavy atmosphere. With the progress of the evening and the help from the wine, the guests and the Palace officials had been able to forget the awkwardness and enjoy the dinner. Victor loathed every single moment spent at that table.

“Your Highness,” Victor’s head snapped from the cup of wine he was sipping to look at one of the visiting dignitaries, who was addressing him with a smile, “we heard about your recent success in Vastal. Our sincere congratulations, an impressive result.”

“Oh,” Victor put down the cup on the table, clearing his throat. He then laid back on the chair, his hands landing on his lap under the table in what looked like a confident gesture. Instead, Victor dug his nails in the flesh of his thighs to resist the urge to look at Yuuri. “Thank you, my Lord. It was indeed a wonderful experience, and I’m delighted I was able to-”

“It was merely luck.” 

Every person around the table froze, except for Victor, who just frowned, before turning his gaze on the King.

“I beg your pardon?” The Prince asked politely.

“I said it was merely luck. The Duke was probably already desperate enough to accept anyone willing to give him anything to save his face in front of his people.” King Dmitry propped his right elbow on the armchair, his cheek on his hand, the sea-blue eyes on the guests. “There was nothing special about what the Prince did.”

Without looking directly at him, Victor realised that Yuuri was now very still beside the King, the cutleries in his hands motionless. His face was turned downwards, as it had been while he was eating.

“But, Your Grace,” the head of the delegation tried to intercede, “surely the Prince-”

King Dmitry chuckled, amused. “What? Do you think a Prince that had spent the past six years wandering the streets like a beggar could solve a situation as complicated as the one with Vastal out of his own merits? Perhaps if his education had not been interrupted, he would at least have had a chance of not being a complete failure.”

There was a moment of heavy silence around the table, embarrassment mixed with tension, while Victor’s impassible gaze was still on the King. And then King Dmitry’s face turned slightly towards the Prince, his lips bending in a sneaky smile. “But yes, it’s such a shame his mother died in the fire that night.” 

Suddenly, Victor was blinded by such anger that for a moment, he saw only white in front of him. The palm of his hands went to the surface of the table, and he raised slowly from his chair. There was nothing else in the room apart for the sardonic smile on the King’s face, and the light of amusement in the man’s eyes. 

Distantly, a cup clinked against a saucer, but Victor couldn’t care less about what was happening around him. 

“It’s your fault,” he said, voice trembling in pure rage. “You did it. The fire started in the basement, where the presents you sent were stored.” With every word, Victor’s voice was rising in volume, until at the very end, he was shouting with all the hate he had kept inside for all those years. “You killed my mother, you-!”

There was the sound of a splash, and Victor blinked, startled. Tea was dripping from his hair down his face, tracing wet lines on his cheeks. The Prince couldn’t speak a single word, wholly taken aback; he couldn’t even make a move.

An empty cup of tea was laid on the table next to him by slender fingers.

“Such an impudence. How dare you speak to the King in this way?” Yuuri’s voice was as cold and distant as ice. “I would suggest you calm down, Prince Victor.” 

Victor was paralysed, bent on top of the table with his palms still on the wooden surface, tea dripping from his head and his chin, his hair stuck to his skin. Soft steps moved from behind the Prince to go back towards King Dmitry.

“Pray forgive him, Your Grace,” Yuuri spoke again, with a tone of voice that sounded suddenly fond. “The Prince is obviously excited because of the improved relationship with Vastal and is also still very much suffering the loss of his mother. He surely knows how much Your Grace had suffered as well and that you cared about her deeply, but his emotions must have taken over for a moment.”   
  
Yuuri reached the side of the King and put one of his hands softly on top of the man’s one, resting on the armchair. “Please, consider it as the outburst of a son towards his father, not a sign of disrespect. We don’t want to disrupt such a lovely dinner.” 

A soft smile bent Yuuri’s lips, his eyes still on King Dmitry’s face, hand steady on the man’s one. “Please, give the Prince a chance to redeem himself in front of your eyes, Your Grace.”

King Dmitry diverted his eyes and sighed. “Fine,” he finally conceded, in a bored tone, “let’s finish this dinner.”

Yuuri went back to his seat, and the King moved a hand to place it on the boy's thigh.

Victor fell back seated, wiped his face as best as he could with his napkin and made no sound for the rest of the dinner.

_________________

The sharp crack of a slap rang out in the deserted room. 

Victor took it in silence: it was strong enough to snap his face to the side, but the Prince still made no sound, while the skin of his cheek reddened.  
Yuuri faced him in silence; his hand was still raised and was hovering in front of his shoulder, arm crossing his chest.

“Did I not tell you not to stir troubles, Your Highness?” Yuuri’s voice was still cold and collected, his eyes impenetrable. “Is it that easy to provoke you? A few words? How do you think you will be able to fulfil your desire if you can not control your instincts, Your Highness? How do you think you will be able to take this-,” and Yuuri’s fingers went to pinch his short cape on both sides of his chest, “out of my shoulders as you promised me?”

Victor’s face was still turned sideways, his eyes on the floor. His long silver hair was still humid, and part of his clothes was stained with tea.

“You could have died today, Your Highness,” Yuuri was relentless, his stare never wavering. “You have to be thankful the Palace needs an heir, and the King knows it.”

 _No,_ Victor thought. I _have to be thankful you stopped me. I have to be grateful you used yourself to save me._

It was what upset Victor the most, the idea of having put Yuuri in a situation in which he’d had to interact with the King in a way that had made creeps climb up Victor’s spine in horror. 

He hadn’t realised. He knew Yuuri was a King’s ownership, but the enormous scope of its meaning had not even touched him so far.

But now.

Now Victor had seen the look in the King’s eyes when Yuuri had touched his hand.  
He had seen the expression on the man’s face when the King had laid a hand on the boy’s thigh.  
Victor had seen the hunger, the lust.

“Your Highness.”

Yuuri’s voice was softer now, with a hint of exhaustion. Victor met his gaze.

“There will be a gathering in the winter. Delegations of nobles from every country will come, and it will be a unique opportunity for you to consolidate your place.” 

Yuuri’s eyes searched in Victor’s, and for a moment, the Prince could see the desperation behind the calm facade. Victor nodded, resolution written all over his face.

Now he knew exactly what was on stake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter, Victor's backstory is complete.
> 
> How are your feelings towards the King?  
> Let me know in the comments!


	5. Winter I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the cost of being cliché: Winter is coming.

_ The first time Yuuri saw the King, he was eight years old. _

_ A ceremony for the newly appointed officers in the Palace had been organised, and Yuuri’s father, Toshiya Katsuki, was between them. It was a great honour, and Yuuri attended with his family; he was fascinated by the grandeur of the place, but also intimidated by the King. Not that the monarch gave him any attention: his bored gaze barely brushed on Yuuri when he was next to his father with the rest of the family.  _

_ Yet Yuuri felt the need to press closer on his mother’s side, a shiver running down his spine.  _

_ *** _

_ The second time Yuuri saw the King, he was thirteen years old. _

_ That day, his father had forgotten at home some papers he had worked on the evening before and that he needed that day; when his mother had found them, she’d asked Yuuri to run to the Palace. Aware of the importance of his errand, Yuuri walked quickly, enjoying the beautiful sun that was shining in a perfect blue sky. _

_ Once at the Palace, Yuuri spent a moment in silent contemplation of the building and its rich decorations, feeling not for the first time small and out of place. Snapping out of his reverie, he found a servant and asked for directions. It took a couple of wrong turns, but finally, Yuuri found the office he was looking for. At first, his father was surprised to see him, but when Yuuri showed him the papers, Toshiya seemed so relieved that Yuuri nearly laughed. _

_ They had lunch together, and Toshiya showed Yuuri his work, what he was doing and why. He explained how good relationships with both their neighbours and also other Kingdoms were essential, both economically and to maintain the peace. Yuuri listened, utterly fascinated, and asked a lot of questions, to which his father answered with amused patience.  _

_ It was mid-afternoon when Toshiya walked Yuuri to the exit, an arm around his son’s shoulders, smiling. Yuuri loved his father deeply, and he was incredibly proud of him: being a part of the Palace, working to make people’s lives better, had always been Toshiya Katsuki’s dream. Yuuri could only hope to become a man like his father one day.  _

_ Just when they were reaching the door, they came across the King, who was returning from the garden. Both Yuuri and his father moved to the side and bowed deeply, eyes on the floor, murmuring “Your Grace” in greeting, and the King walked past them, not uttering a single word. _

_ And then, Yuuri felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck.  _

_ He was entirely sure that King Dmitry had looked at him the whole time. He could literally feel the monarch’s gaze bore inside his skull. Yuuri shuddered unintentionally: there was something in the King that made him feel nervous and threatened, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. As he got up from his bow, Yuuri blinked fast, a single bead of sweat running down from his hair along the side of his face, his heart beating fast in his chest _

_ It had to be the King’s aura of power, Yuuri told himself. Surely that was it.  _

_ His father, oblivious of Yuuri’s struggle, kept talking cheerfully until they reached the door and saw him leaving. Yuuri walked away faster than when he had arrived, still feeling the King’s gaze linger on him for as long as it took him to turn a corner and disappear from the view of the Palace. _

_ *** _

_ When Yuuri began to attend lessons at the Palace, he was fourteen years old. _

_ Toshiya Katuski had been chosen by the King to become the new Minister of Foreign Affairs, and once again the whole family gathered in the throne room to attend the investiture. Yuuri could see his father glowing in pride, kneeled in front of the King who sat on the throne, head bowed while an official read the pompous words of the loyalty oath required by the ceremony.  _

_ For the whole time, the King didn’t spare a single glance to his father: his gaze was instead on Yuuri, a sly smile curling his lips.  _

_ Nor his mother or his sister Mari realised what was happening. They were too distracted by emotions and too focused on Toshiya to become aware of anything else. But Yuuri noticed. Something deeply unsettling made its way into the boy, a kind of premonition that filled his bones with a chill that had nothing to do with the winter season. _

_ A few months later, the King asked Toshiya to take Yuuri to the Palace with him. _

_ That evening, his father explained excitedly to Yuuri that it was a great honour, that he could have the chance to study and to prepare to become an officer at the Palace in the future if he wanted to. They were so incredibly lucky that the King cared about their family and wanted to give Yuuri such a huge opportunity, he said. _

_ Yuuri listened and couldn’t help but feeling torn: his family looked so excited, but should he say something about how the King made him feel uneasy? Should he mention what he had seen during the ceremony? Surely his parents would dismiss that as nervousness, knowing how shy and insecure Yuuri was, he thought. And maybe they were right. Yuuri trusted his parents: they had only their children’s best interest at heart, and if his father approved, then there was nothing wrong with him studying at the Palace, wasn’t it? _

_ Yuuri pushed down his unsettlement and said nothing; instead, he showed himself excited and declared he couldn’t wait to start.  _

_ A few days later, the boy began to go to the Palace every day with Toshiya; while his father worked in the office, Yuuri spent his day studying with tutors all kinds of subjects, from proper manners to how the Palace worked.  _

_ It was indeed exciting, and Yuuri forgot about his worries for a little while, throwing himself enthusiastically at learning as much as he could. _

_ *** _

_ “Your Grace, you wanted to see me?” Yuuri asked politely on the threshold of the library, his gaze trained on the King’s chin, careful not to meet his eyes. _

_ “Yes, Yuuri.”  _

_ The way the King pronounced his name sent a shiver down Yuuri’s spine, but he was studying for months, every day and for many hours per day, how to behave in public, how to keep in control of his whole body even under pressure. It was a vital ability, his tutor had told him: a person who always looks unmoved and in control is a person who exudes an aura of trust. And people are likely to feel comfortable enough to let slip information and details when they are around someone they perceived as trustworthy.  _

_ So Yuuri kept his facade carefully neutral and pushed down the regurgitation of bitter bile that had risen in his throat. _

_ It had been many months since Yuuri had started his lessons at the Palace, and this was the first time the King summoned him directly. Yuuri had noticed the King watching over him from time to time, from a distance, but he had never said a single word to him.  _

_ Until now. _

_ “Come here, my boy,” the King beckoned, and Yuuri walked gracefully to the King’s side.  _

_ King Dmitry pointed to him a chair placed near his armchair and Yuuri sat down, posture erect and eyes slightly lowered as a sign of respect. With the index finger of his right hand, Yuuri pushed the glasses back up his nose and waited. _

_ “I would very much like it if we could get to know each other better, Yuuri,” the King said in a low, seducing voice, leaning towards him. “I would like to hear from you about what you are learning during your lessons. And I would like you to read to me from time to time.”  _

_ Yuuri summoned all his strength to remain impassible when the King’s hand reached his right thigh, fingers stroking and thumb circling the soft skin on the inside over the fabric of his trousers. He felt a thin layer of sweat forming on his hairline, but his expression remained carefully calm, and his hands laid relaxed in his lap with his fingers intertwined. _

_ “Will you do this for your King, Yuuri?” And the note of desire in the monarch’s voice was barely discernible, yet unmistakable. _

_ “Of course, Your Grace.” Yuuri’s voice didn’t tremble. _

_ “Excellent,” King Dmitry sounded smug, and he laid back into his armchair, brushing his fingers along Yuuri’s leg in doing so. “You can start with the book on the table next to you.” _

_ *** _

_ When Toshiya Katuski realised there was something wrong, Yuuri was fifteen years old. _

_ At first, the attention the King gave to his son filled him with pride: Yuuri was such a special boy, his kind and caring nature a gift to everyone lucky enough to be close to him. But he was also incredibly bright and perceptive, his insights on many topics often on point and incredibly deep for a boy his age. The King must have noticed. _

_ Toshiya found it curious, but not suspicious when the King had started to spend more and more time with Yuuri while he was at the Palace, summoning him to the library and asking the boy to read him books or to repeat the lessons he had learnt. It looked like the King had a paternal interest in Yuuri, and Toshiya thought that maybe King Dmitry was missing his son, the First Prince, after his untimely death a few months earlier.  _

_ Still, there was something that made Toshiya frown, skin covered in goosebumps, every time he saw Yuuri sitting next to the King, or when he noticed the King overlooking his son’s lessons. _

_ Over time, that paternal interest turned out to be something very different.   
_ _ The change had not been slow, and yet it had not been immediately visible either.  _

_ Yuuri grew increasingly quieter. Toshiya had always thought it was because he was tired after a long day of lessons, but now he worried there was something more, something very wrong going on in Yuuri’s life. He tried to inquire, but his son dismissed all the questions resolutely with a soft smile and the reassurance that everything was fine. But Yuuri wasn’t speaking as much as before about his lessons at the Palace. His enthusiasm had faded into something calculating, as if he suddenly had a particular purpose for studying.  _

_ So Toshiya asked for an audience with the King. _

_ He spoke with respect but firmly, explaining how he felt the King’s attentions were heaving on Yuuri. He asked King Dmitry to understand Yuuri was still very young, and that it would have been better to leave him alone.  _

_ The King listened and reassured Toshiya he didn’t mean any harm and Yuuri was absolutely safe in the Palace. Toshiya was heartened and thanked the sovereign for his understanding, regarding him with a deep, respectful bow. _

_ The King didn’t look for Yuuri for months. _

_ *** _

_ When King Dmitry summoned Yuuri the next time, it was on the day of his sixteenth birthday. _

_ Yuuri arrived at the library and bowed his head in respect. He wasn’t sure what to expect: he had felt a tiny bit of hope when the King had stopped calling him, thinking that maybe the monarch had grown tired of his presence. But now, here he was, and Yuuri still had no idea of why the King had changed his demeanour so abruptly in the first place. So, he threaded carefully, paying attention to every signal, every detail, while he approached his usual chair. _

_ At the King’s gesture, Yuuri sat gracefully and took the book that laid on the table, opening it on the page they last read months prior. Yuuri was about to start when the King interrupted him. _

_ “Minister Katsuki thinks I should leave you alone,” King Dmitry said, an elbow propped on the armchair of the throne and his cheek leaning on the raised hand. Amusement danced in his gaze.  _

_ Yuuri raised his eyes from the book, training them on the King’s chin, waiting. The mention of his father made his blood run cold, but he forced himself to stay in control. _

_ “Which, I would say, it’s entirely inappropriate. Why should I listen to a Minister who is guilty of crimes against the Palace, weaving relationships with other kingdoms to overthrow the throne?” _

_ Yuuri’s eyes, wide in shock, shot on the King’s face meeting the monarch’s ones, gleaming with malice. All the blood drained from Yuuri’s face, leaving him deadly pale. _

_ “Y-Your Grace-,” Yuuri stammered, voice full of panic, “y-you know this is n-not true. You- You can’t-” _

_ “Oh?” the King’s voice was delighted. “Is it something of the Katsuki family then?” He chuckled and didn’t wait for a response. “Of course it’s not true, Yuuri. But you see, I don’t like being told what I can do and what I can not. It irritates me deeply. And I usually deal with the sources of my irritation in a very definitive way.” _

_ Yuuri stood up abruptly, the book falling from his lap with a loud thud on the floor. The second after, he dropped on his knees, his torso bending forward until his forehead touched the cold marble slabs. All the months of learning how to always examine the situation with a detachment to find the best way out were thrown to the wind in the face of the instinctive, ferocious terror for his father's safety. _

_ “Please, Your Grace,” Yuuri begged with a broken voice. “Do not harm my father, my family. I beg you. I will do anything you want, just please-”. He couldn’t finish the sentence, panic clawing at his throat. _

_ There was a moment of silence, then the King’s voice talked again, smoothly.  _

_ “Anything?” _

_ Yuuri, still bent forward, swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes. He knew, in that exact moment, what was going to happen. Yuuri breathed a couple of times deeply, before straightening the torso. His hands went to his thighs, palms flat. His throat was horribly dry, and he didn’t trust his voice, so Yuuri simply nodded, before his head bowed again in defeat. _

_ The King raised from the armchair and leaned towards the boy. He was so close that Yuuri could see the tips of his shoes from under the hem of the rich vest. Then, fingers slipped under Yuuri’s chin, and the King forced him to raise his face and meet his triumphant gaze. When King Dmitry talked, his voice sounded like a whispered condemnation. _

_ “Then, from today, you are my property, Yuuri. You will live here at the Palace and wear what I will choose for you. My brand on you will always be visible to anyone. You will spend next to me as much time as I wish. And once you reach the age-” There was a pause, and Yuuri, helplessly staring in the King’s eyes, could see the lust burning in that terrifying gaze.”You will be entirely mine.” _

_ *** _

_ When Yuuri became the King’s possession, he was sixteen years old. _

_ And in two years, for the sake of his family, he would lose every single thing he had. _

_________________

Yuuri was tucked in a secret section of the library closed by a door well hidden behind thick curtains, at the end of rows of shelves of books probably unused for centuries. The smaller room, also filled by shelves of books of much higher value, was accessible only to the members of the royal family.

Yuuri doubted King Dmitry even knew about the existence of the secret room, considering how little time he spent reading. The boy had seen the King in the library only when he requested Yuuri to read to him. He was sure that if King Dmitry knew about an even more secluded space to spend time with him, he would have taken advantage of it from the very beginning.

But Yuuri had found the door after one of the very first explorations of the library he had done two years prior and had carefully searched for information in the papers and books related to the Palace. Finally, he had found an annotation dating back to at least two previous rulers. Yuuri had then searched for the key in the Chancellor’s office, patiently trying every single one he found discarded messily in a drawer until one had worked.

Since then, the key was his most precious possession.

Yuuri hid in the secret room when he needed time and space, disappearing from the eyes of the Palace after pretending to go out for a walk. Today was no exception. 

Surrounded by piles of books, he spent his time studying incessantly everything that his tutors didn’t teach him in their lessons. There was so much to know, so much he needed to be aware of to plan his next moves. Yuuri shuddered. He had so little time- 

“I knew I would find you here.”

Yuuri didn’t raise his eyes when the voice broke the silence, keeping reading the book in his lap.

Months earlier, after their successful mission in Vastal, Yuuri had taken Victor to the library and had shown him the door. It had been an act of complete trust that Victor had regarded with the utmost seriousness. Yuuri possessed a copy of the key he had made years before, just in case, and he had given it to Victor. “So if you need me and you can’t find me, you know where to look,” the boy had told the Prince, his big brown eyes full of severity.

Now, Victor reached the spot where Yuuri was reading and sat next to him. The Prince groaned loudly, massaging one shoulder with the opposite hand, and started telling Yuuri about his day: what he had done, the people he had talked to and how he had practised with the sword with some of the soldiers in the Palace.

In the past months, Victor had become more popular in the Palace, his open and friendly nature finding fertile ground in the guards and soldiers, as well as in the Palace staff. The Prince was well-liked and esteemed, although no one openly mentioned it for fear of incurring the ire of the King.

Victor kept talking, and Yuuri never raised his eyes from the book. The Prince knew, though, that Yuuri was listening, because not a single page was turned while Victor was speaking.

“I have something for you,” Victor said after a moment of silence, once he finished his summary of the day. He moved slightly, uncertain, producing a package wrapped in paper and string and handing it to Yuuri.

The boy finally moved his attention from the book to the package, frowning slightly. He put down the book carefully from his lap on to the floor and took the present with a hesitant move.

“I promise it doesn’t bite,” Victor laughed.

Yuuri unwrapped the package slowly, undoing the string and opening the flaps of paper. He sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes widening and sparkling with joy. “Oh,” Yuuri managed to say, before caressing with a reverential hand the leather cover of a book.

“I know you wanted to have it. It wasn’t easy to find a copy, but I was lucky: a few weeks ago, a convoy had arrived from Asmein, and there was a man who was a collector of books. I traded the copy with other books he wanted to have.” Victor talked fast, obviously excited by Yuuri’s reaction to his gift. “Happy birthday!”

Yuuri’s hand froze on the cover, and his face went pale in an instant.

Victor blinked, taken aback by the abrupt change, and his heart-shaped beam fell. “Yuuri?” He asked tentatively.

Yuuri recovered quickly, his face displaying a carefully crafted calm expression. “Thank you, Your Highness. That was very thoughtful,” the boy said in his soft, smooth voice, his gaze still trained on the book.

Victor narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong, Yuuri?”

“I do not know what you are talking about, Your Highness,” Yuuri answered, pushing his glasses up his nose, eyes still on Victor’s gift in his lap.

“I’ve noticed,” Victor said after a few seconds spent staring at Yuuri, “that you lock yourself up here in this room because it’s the only place out of the King’s reach.”

Yuuri tensed before he could entirely stop himself and Victor didn’t miss it. The Prince leaned towards the boy, one hand moving slowly, as not to scare him. He brushed his fingers gently on Yuuri’s back of the hand, covered by the glove, feeling the movement of the tendons when they twitched involuntarily under his digits. The moment after, Victor curled his fingers around Yuuri’s hand, taking hold of it. Yuuri shuddered, still avoiding his eyes, but didn’t recoil.

“Yuuri. It’s your birthday. You are eighteen now. You are an adult, and you can decide for yourself. You don’t have to obey the orders of the old man anymore. Why are you scared, Yuuri? What is going on?” Victor’s voice had increased his urgency with every word. He could feel there was something Yuuri wasn’t telling him, something important.

Yuuri finally raised his eyes to meet Victor’s, and the Prince couldn’t help the shiver that rushed down his spine. Those beautiful, warm, intelligent brown eyes were empty and numb, as they were contemplating something dreadful and unavoidable. Yuuri freed his hand gently from Victor’s grasp and stood up graciously, holding the book the Prince had given to him on his chest. 

“Your Highness, you are overthinking. And I feel tired. I am going back to my rooms.”

Yuuri moved past Victor and Victor didn’t stop him, his hand still mid-air where he was holding Yuuri’s minutes before. On the threshold, Yuuri stopped. He didn’t turn back, but his voice was the softest Victor had ever heard.

“Thank you for the present. It means more than I will ever be able to express.”

And then he was gone, leaving Victor with all his doubts and the feeling of something dangerous looming over the other man. 

“What are you not telling me, Yuuri?” Victor murmured in the empty room.

The Prince clenched his fingers into a fist: whatever it was, he had to be ready to fight it.

_________________  
  


It was late in the night, and the Palace was asleep for hours.

Yuuri was in his rooms, sitting at his desk, a quill suspended over a clean sheet of paper. Next to him, the rare book Victor had found for him laid on the wooden surface, keeping catching Yuuri’s attention, distracting him from what he needed to do.

The Prince was able to see into the heart of all that mattered, making it impossible to lie or deny things. It was something Yuuri hadn’t predicted and for which he wasn’t ready. He had been very close to crashing down and telling him everything in the afternoon in the secret room.  
*But Yuuri couldn’t. Because what could happen to him wasn’t as important as saving the whole kingdom, as ending a reign of terror and injustice.  
Prince Victor must not focus on Yuuri’s safety; he had to become a man worthy to reign.

Yuuri knew very well that there were several requirements to be king.

_ A king must be knowledgeable about the economy and the geography of the kingdom, and must also be well versed in military strategy.  
_ The Prince had proved himself during the Vastal crisis, and he had pushed himself into studying and learning everything he could since then, along with training with other soldiers in combat strategy.

_ He must be altruistic at heart, putting the people before himself.  
_ Prince Victor had proved it long ago, sacrificing himself to save the children from the guards.

_ He must be charismatic and carry himself with poise.  
_ Images of Victor walking in the halls of the Palace, proud and controlled, filled Yuuri’s mind.

_ He must be eloquent and be able to win people’s hearts.  
_ Yuuri remembered how Victor had spoken in Vastal, and how more and more people were involved in the innate charm and cheerful and generous character of the Prince.

_ But of the many requirements to be a king, benevolence comes before all else.  
_ Yuuri thought about how Victor had learnt to ask for the help of those who knew more than him, how he was keen to listen to their opinion, how he always asked for Yuuri’s thought most of all. He thought about how Victor cared about people. How Victor cared about him.

Yuuri released a long sigh. The King hadn’t summoned him that night as he had feared, but it was a matter of time now.

“I must remain cautious until the right time arises,” Yuuri murmured to himself, before ultimately devoting his full attention to the letter before him. 

Dipping the nib into the ink, Yuuri began writing in clear, elegant letters.

_ Your Lordship, _

_ It’s time. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now you know Yuuri's backstory.


	6. Winter II

One month later, when the delegations arrived at the Palace, the sun was shining brightly in a clear sky, and only the gentle crisp breeze served as a reminder they were in the middle of winter. 

Leglein organised the gathering every year. The rulers and nobles of the neighbouring Countries were invited as a sign of peace and goodwill. They also had the chance to talk about matters in person.

Flags of Leglein and the royal house fluttered from the pendentives of the Palace, while those of the guest countries were proudly displayed on the road leading to the King’s residence.   
Children watched the parade of bright colours that ran through the city with their mouths open in wonder, sometimes pointing at a particular shade of orange of silk, or an unusual headdress. They muted reverently in front of dark skin and eyes so black that seem bottomless, and they shily returned waves of hands from kind people with black hair and purple eyes.

It was a magnificent display of power for the King's benefit, showing that he would not deal with subordinates, but with his peers.  
Not that King Dmitry Nikiforov cared about their opinion.

One by one, the delegations went through the gates of the Palace, pausing only the time necessary to be announced by their spokesman to the Chancellor. The latter was waiting on the threshold and was ready to pay homage on behalf of the Royal house. The soldiers would then gather in the outside area, where a perfectly organised tent camp had been erected weeks earlier for the occasion. The rulers and the nobles with their families would instead stay in the Palace in the guests’ apartments.

“The Duke of Vastal, Aryan Chulanont, and Lord Phichit Chulanont,” the loud voice of the spokesperson announced, soon after Vastal’s banner passed the threshold of the Palace.

The Duke spoke briefly with his guards, probably giving disposition for the soldiers, before nodding at Phichit and moving towards the open doors of the Palace, red and golden silk robes fluttering in the winter breeze. The Chancellor bowed deeply, welcoming the guests with a few words and calling a footman to show them to their apartments. 

The Chulanonts and their guide were halfway through the hall when Phichit released a delighted shout, dropped his bag to the floor and took off running towards a figure who was passing by in a nearby corridor.

“Master Yuuri!” Phichit chirped, clashing against the young man. 

Yuuri released an “oof” when he felt his breath forced out by the impact, and he made a considerable effort not to lose his balance and fall to the ground. After a few seconds, the tanned Lord stepped back, grinning. “It is so good to see you.”

“Your Lordship,” Yuuri greeted once composed, straightening the glasses and running a hand through the hair to tidy up some messy strands. “I trust you have had a good trip. Time has been kind to you. I find you well.”

“I can not complain in the slightest,” Phichit answered back before his eyes gleamed in excitement. “Oh, I need to show you something! Come with me!” And before Yuuri could answer, the Lord took the young man’s wrist in his grasp and started pulling him towards where his father and the footman were waiting.

Once they were only a few steps apart, Phichit left Yuuri’s wrist to rush back to his abandoned bag, while Yuuri bowed impeccably to the Duke. “My Lord, welcome to Laglein,” he said in a respectful tone of voice.   
The Duke nodded in acknowledgement. “Master Katsuki, I am pleased to find you healthy,” the man added then, his deep voice polite.

“Ah, here!” Phichit beamed, pulling out a red-bound book and handing it to Yuuri. “Vastal’s history and legends, as you requested when you graciously visited me months ago.”

“You remembered,” Yuuri said, almost surprised, taking the book in his hands. “Thank you, Your Lordship. I am most grateful that you have taken the trouble to carry this extra burden with you.”

“Nonsense! I told you I just needed time to locate it in our library. I am sure you will find the reading utterly fascinating,” Phichit answered, smiling.

“That is enough, Phichit. Let this poor man go on with his duties and let us find our rooms and refresh before the first meeting,” the Duke severely interjected, and Phichit ducked his head in his shoulders with a contrite expression.

“I will see you again, my Lord, Your Lordship.” Yuuri bowed again and let the footman move first, leading the guests towards their apartments. Then, he turned to resume his previous path, holding the book against his chest. 

_________________

  
Yuuri closed the door of his rooms behind him, locking it carefully. 

With sure and elegant steps, he moved to his study and the desk inside, placing the book received from Phichit carefully on the wooden surface. With extreme caution, Yuuri opened the cover of the book.

In the middle of the pages, a cavity had been dug in the paper to accommodate two small vials filled with liquid, one purple on the left and one whitish on the right.

A small card was tucked on the right side of the cavity, and Yuuri slipped it out. He opened it with a simple rubbing of the thumb and forefinger, and read the few written words.

_ On the right, what you asked me. On the left, what I told you.   
_ _ I hope you will never need it. _

Yuuri closed the book gently and put it among other books on the shelf behind the desk.  
Then, he walked to the crackling fire in the living room and crouched. With the reflection of the dancing flames on his face, Yuuri reached out until the farthest corner of the card between his fingers caught fire, and let it go. 

Yuuri didn’t move until the last fragment of the message disappeared in ashes. 

_________________  
_  
_

The gathering was a lengthy affair. As many guests were coming from far away, they needed time to recover after their long journey before starting the one which would take them back home. Therefore, a long time ago, it had been decided the gathering had to last two weeks. 

Two weeks filled with meetings and social events, as well as small tournaments for the guards and the soldiers, and banquets for all the guests regardless of their rank. The pressure on the staff of the Palace was immense, but the whole ordeal was a strain for everyone involved, guests included, especially when the access to wine and beer was constant. That was the reason why the most important meetings were held in the first couple of days.

More than once, over the years, Yuuri had wondered how the people in the Kingdom, the ones who often lived with the bare minimum, could tolerate the waste. The answer, of course, laid in the army of soldiers guarding and protecting the Palace and the King. They were well-fed and trained; the peasants wouldn’t stand a chance, even if they wanted to try something.

Yuuri’s mind contemplated these thoughts once again while he glanced through the large windows that looked out from the corridor onto the central courtyard. Many groups of soldiers were challenging each other in an archery competition, screaming at the top of their lungs or cursing, depending on the result. Yuuri twisted his mouth, displeased, at the sight of tables covered with eaten and abandoned food.

“And we’re only on the second day,” he whispered to himself, releasing a sigh straight after.

He was strolling in the spacious corridor that led to the throne room, where the heads of the four most important countries and their heirs were meeting the King, the Prince and the Minister of the Foreign Affairs that morning. It was one of the most important meetings of the whole gathering, hence why it was organised so early in the event. The guests had had enough time to refresh and recover, but not enough to put their hands on the wine yet.

The sound of fast steps behind him tore Yuuri from his thoughts. Good, his timing proved correct. His senses narrowed to what he had to do now.

Yuuri kept walking without turning back and waited until a young servant passed him carrying a tray full of mugs of wine, skidding dangerously under its weight while trying to proceed as quickly as possible. The servant was new; he was working in the kitchen only for a couple of weeks. His understanding of the rules and the roles of the Palace was still lacking.   
Which worked perfectly for Yuuri.

“You!” Yuuri called with a sharp tone of voice, and the poor servant nearly tripped on his feet, startled. 

The young boy turned around, eyes going wide when they took in the other man. It was painfully obvious he didn’t know who Yuuri was by the fact he didn’t address him, but Yuuri waited until the servant’s eyes dropped on the pin with the royal crest closing Yuuri’s cape. It was enough for the servant to know he was in front of someone important. Yuuri approached the youngster and tilted his head in a silent examination, his eyes severe behind the lens of his glasses. 

The poor servant looked like he was on the verge of passing out at any moment.  
Yuuri reached out his gloved hands and placed them effortlessly under the tray, lifting it slightly and releasing the young boy from the weight. The youngster remained with his hands in mid-air, open-mouthed, clearly unsure about what to do.

“We don’t want the tray to fall and the wine to end on the marble instead of to our distinguished guests, do we?” Yuuri said, using his most displeased tone of voice. “Go ahead and collect the already empty mugs from the throne room and take them to the kitchen. I'll take care of these. Now!” he commanded when he noticed the servant's attempt to object. The boy jolted violently and squeaked a “yes, sir!”, before dashing to the throne room.

Yuuri waited until the echo of the steps disappeared, and then glanced carefully around him. There was no way somebody could be lurking without being noticed in this corridor; when Yuuri was sure he was alone, he started to walk again towards the throne room, slowly. Yuuri balanced the heavy tray over one hand and the forearm, the muscle of the arm straining and trembling under the weight. Yuuri moved the other hand as to rearrange the mugs better; with a swift move of his wrist, he let a small vial fall from the cuff of his shirt into the grasp of his fingers. With a practised gesture of his thumb, he removed the cap and poured the contents into the mug in the lower-left corner of the tray, the one his body hid the most from the sight of any potential witness. 

Yuuri watched the whitish liquid dissolving in the wine, without changing its colour. He knew it wasn’t going to alter its smell or taste either.

Eventually, he slipped the empty vial inside the opposite shirt sleeve, in a small pocket discreetly sewn inside the cuff, where no one would notice it.

Squaring his shoulders and retaking hold of the tray with both hands, Yuuri kept walking towards the throne room with elegant steps, his back straightened and his face schooled in perfect calm and control.

_________________  
  


When Yuuri entered the throne room, the King frowned.

Count Farlan of Agrye was standing in front of his seat around the table and talking, but as the King’s focus switched, his voice died slowly. All the eyes in the room turned towards Yuuri.

“My apologies, Your Grace, Your Highness,” Yuuri said softly, proceeding into the room with the tray in his hands. He caught a glimpse of Victor about to get up, probably to help him; Yuuri just shook his head, pretending to look at the mugs, blocking the Prince before the King could notice his movement.

“Yuuri.” The King’s voice was displeased, his eyes intense. “This is not your job to do.”

Yuuri raised his eyes to meet the King’s just for a moment, smiling gently. 

“I am well aware, Your Grace. I merely wanted to be sure the wine reached your table instead of the marble of the floor.” He spoke with his musical, calm tone of voice while moving around the table and placing a mug in front of every sitting person.  
Duke Chulanont and Phichit thanked him with a nod; his father didn’t look at him but murmured a word of thanks; Prince Victor smiled slightly. “After all, we do not want our guests to think that the Palace does not take them into the highest consideration, enough to guarantee them the best possible service.”

The King grumbled but didn’t reply. When Yuuri approached his armchair at the head of the table and placed his mug in front of him, King Dmitry moved an arm to circle Yuuri’s waist for a moment, possessive. Yuuri smiled softly, and the King let him go.   
Nobody said a word, but Yuuri caught Victor’s jaw clenched in a quick spasm and Toshiya Katsuki’s mouth twisted in pain.

Yuuri went on the other side of the table, serving Count Farlan, now sit, and his son, then the Prince of Asmein and his daughter. They all nodded politely, but nobody talked. There was a heavy feeling of embarrassment in the room, impregnated with the knowledge that everyone knew something unsettling, but no one could openly mention it.

Yuuri floated through the thick air as if it were nothing that concerned him, his manners impeccable, his movements calm and gracious. It was like looking at a dancer during a performance, instead of a man serving mugs of wine. Once he finished, Yuuri walked towards the open door, before turning to face the table one more time, bowing politely. He could feel the King’s and Victor’s gaze on him, but he didn’t meet any of them. Yuuri’s hand reached the handle of the door and pulled it closed, disappearing from view. 

Yuuri stopped outside; his face turned down and his ears alert, just long enough to hear the conversation resume after a further moment of silence. After leaving the empty tray on the table close by for the servants to take away, he returned from where he had come, his steps so light they didn’t produce a single sound on the marble of the floor. 

_________________  
  
_  
_ The Minister of the Foreign Affairs hadn’t attended the past few days’ meetings. He had dropped unwell at breakfast three days earlier and had been taken to his apartments, where doctors were debating on the reason for such a sudden illness. After a thorough examination, they couldn’t find any sign of poisoning or anything induced from external causes. They reported to the King that most likely something in the Minister's body was no longer functioning as it should. 

Yuuri was allowed to stay with his father every day for one hour. He assisted the Minister during the delusions caused by the fever, helping him drink plenty of water when he was conscious enough, reassuring him when Toshiya cried in exhaustion, begging for forgiveness.

The first week of the gathering ended, and the rumours started. 

“I’m sure about it,“ a maid said to another maid while walking in the corridor, carrying piles of clean towels for the guests. “Maxim heard the conversation with his own ears. The Minister of the Foreign Affairs is being replaced permanently with his deputy. The King has lost his patience; he needs someone functioning in the role now and doesn’t want to lose time with someone whose body is too weak even to overcome a simple illness. His exact words.”

“Poor Minister Katsuki, after all the years of dedication. What’s going to happen to him?” The second maid inquired.

“He’s being sent home. He won’t reside in the Palace anymore, and he will just have an office job of some sort when and if he recovers,” the first maid whispered, shaking her head.

The annoyed voice of the lead maid shouted at them to hurry up from the end of the corridor, and they jolted, dropping the conversation to return to their duties.

***

Two days later, attendants of the Palace carried Toshiya Katuski gently to a carriage which would take him home. The royal doctors were still going to check on him every day, but he would be away from the Palace and the King.

Yuuri watched from the window, his hands clasped behind his back and his face inscrutable. Next to him, hidden from outside eyes by the curtains, Phichit Chulanont tore his gaze from the road to look at Yuuri. 

When the carriage disappeared around a corner, Yuuri looked back at Phichit and bowed deeply, far more than circumstances required. Phichit grabbed the other man’s shoulders with his hands, a whole speech in his black eyes, before turning and walking away. 

Yuuri stayed behind, looking outside at the Winter’s sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gears start moving.


	7. Winter III

Two days after the departure of Toshiya Katsuki and three before the end of the gathering, Yuuri was walking in the hall of the Palace when something red flashed outside the window on his right, catching his attention. He stopped and looked more carefully in the courtyard: the wind moved Victor’s red cloak again while the Prince stood in front of the son of Count Farlan, dressed in black. 

Yuuri narrowed his eyes: the attitude between the two heirs seemed confrontational, so he turned back quickly and slipped silently out of the main doors. He walked as quietly as possible, cautiously, keeping himself covered behind the columns of the external arcade until he couldn’t go any farther without being spotted. Yuuri leaned his back against the column, melting into its shadow, and listened.

“I’ve heard of you, Prince Victor,” the son of Count Farlan, Damian, said in a teasing tone of voice. “The bastard son of the King who has graciously deigned us of his presence after years hiding who knows where.”

Yuuri bit his lower lip. Damian Farlan was known to be a short-tempered young man about Victor’s age, as fast with the words as he was in withdrawing when the situation was too challenging for him. A petty coward by nature, but one who knew how far to push to provoke others and get them into trouble. It was quite a testing situation for Victor.

So far, though, Victor didn’t seem willing to react. Yuuri couldn’t risk being noticed by leaning over the column to look at the Prince, who was turning his back to him anyway, but only silence answered those offensive words. Damian Farlan went on, emboldened.

“There are a few exciting rumours about you, you know? It is said that the Prince of Leglein is actually a pawn artfully manipulated by a little boy who enjoys some power in the Palace.” Damian’s voice dripped with subtle contempt. “Don’t you have any pride?”

Victor’s voice sounded puzzled. “Pride?”

Damian snorted. “Yes, pride. Everyone knows that you’re nothing but a pretty puppet of that boy, doesn’t this bother you?”

Yuuri felt as if a cold blade were piercing his stomach. His lungs were struggling to breathe, his sight trembling at the corners, narrowing. The terrible awareness of how close those words were to the truth crushed Yuuri with an unbearable weight. He hadn't spoken to Victor, he had never really explained why he wanted to make him king, why he was so desperate. Yuuri had always believed that he had time, that he needed to be sure Victor was the right person. He never meant to keep his intentions secret, but he couldn’t afford to tell the entire truth either, even if it meant omitting information to the one who cared most about Yuuri in the whole Palace.

“His puppet?” Victor repeated, with a strange tone of voice. Yuuri couldn’t quite pinpoint what was in it.

“Yes, his puppet. He’s moving you for his gain. Have you never thought that he might want to have more power for himself? And what better chance than a Prince who knows nothing about the Palace and politics? Who can be shaped at will and become exactly what that boy wants?” Damian was implacable, Victor’s apparent confusion feeding his cruelty. “He sugarcoated you, Prince Victor. He made you believe you could become someone you can never be. He manipulated you, and you should be mortified.”

Yuuri felt like his knees were going to give up under him. His heart in his ribcage beat like a rabbit desperately trying to break free from a trap. His breath was heavy, and the palms of his hands sweaty. His head felt so heavy Yuuri couldn’t even raise it enough to look at anything but the floor.

He was going to lose everything. His last hope. He was going to lose Victor.

Yuuri felt tears forming. One hand raised to remove the glasses; the other went to cover his closed eyes. He managed to hold back a sob with an enormous effort. If Yuuri had told Victor the truth, would he still have wished to be king? Would he still have stayed by his-

“So you figured it out, eh? You’re not as stupid as I thought.”

Yuuri froze, eyes wide, when Victor’s voice, full of amusement, broke the silence.

“What?” Damian sounded utterly confused.

“You made some good assumptions, but came to the wrong conclusion. You see, playing puppet was my idea.” Victor said dismissively. Yuuri could picture in his mind the way the Prince was probably shrugging while saying that. He was still frozen in shock, barely breathing.

“Your…” Damian was utterly at a loss, and it was painfully evident now.

“But who says I’m going to be his puppet forever?” The grin on Victor’s face was perfectly intuitable in his voice. “Of course I didn’t know anything about politics and the Palace, so I definitely needed someone with the right knowledge to help me out. And I want to be king. It's because I want to, not because someone told me to. And if along the way I have to play puppet, then so be it. But it’s thanks to that boy that I am who I am now, and it’s also thanks to him-” There was a sound of walking, a double set of steps as if one had moved forward and the other backwards. When Victor spoke again, his voice was considerably lower and much more threatening. “-that I know better than to punch that revolting face of yours.”

“You- you are crazy, Nikiforov!” Damian sputtered, before turning and, according to the pace of his steps, running away.

A few long moments of silence followed, before Victor’s voice made itself heard again.

“You can come out now. I know you’re there.”

Yuuri, who was in the process of putting back on his glasses, gasped, eyes wide in shock. Slowly, tentatively, he turned around the column and came to sight. Victor was still turning his back to him.

“How did you know I was here?” Yuuri asked in a low voice.

“I could recognise your footsteps from the other side of the Palace,” Victor answered, finally turning around and facing him. “Let’s make this very clear right now, Yuuri. I don’t care what you want from me and how you use me. As long as you stay close to me, I’m going to keep my promise and become king.” A pause, while a smile softened the hard lines of Victor’s face. “And I’m going to do it because I believe in a better future.”

For a long moment, all they did was look at each other from a distance, without saying a word. Then Yuuri spoke again. 

"I pray you can become that king. A king who has the love and trust of his people. Who needs no reason other than his virtue to be considered worthy and be loved.” 

Yuuri’s voice was calm but full of wonder and hope, his big brown eyes warm.  
Victor’s smile broke on his lips as bright as the sun.

_________________

  
Later in the afternoon, Phichit and Yuuri were taking a stroll under a sky that was increasingly turning dark grey. The wind wasn’t incredibly strong, but it was cold, and slipped into the layers of the garments, making them flutter around the bodies of the two young men. Neither of them seemed to mind it too much, merely tightening the heavy cloaks better around their chest and walking at a calm pace, not looking at each other.

“We have been blessed with incredibly lenient weather so far, considering the season,” Phichit said in his usual carefree tone of voice.

“Indeed,” Yuuri answered, raising a hand to move unruly strands of his hair from his eyes. “In just three days all the delegations will leave. I hope the weather will not worsen before then, or your journey back could be dangerous.”

“Speaking of dangers,” Phichit said, with a subtle change in his voice. His facial expression remained placid in favour of anyone who might be spying from the windows of the Palace. “I have heard there is a particularly dangerous creature which threatens many places. A wolf of sorts, maybe. Rumours are coming from all over the kingdoms, and many seem upset and want to organise a hunt.”

Yuuri’s expression didn’t change, but a barely perceptible tensing of his shoulders told Phichit the other man was rolling the words in his head, sectioning and finding the true meaning. “That is unexpected. I have not heard anything about it in Leglein yet,” Yuuri carefully answered, worrying his teeth on his lower lip, thoughtful.

“Well, soldiers talk, you know.” Phichit shrugged dismissively. 

Yuuri caught the hint: so rumours were spreading during the gathering as well. That was promising. Out of the corner of his eye, Yuuri noticed Phichit glancing at him for a moment, and braced himself.

“So,” Phichit turned his head on the other side, as he examined an evergreen tree they were passing close to, “you did not see any sign of this creature so far.”

“No,” Yuuri answered, and his hands involuntarily clenched into fists in the safety of the cloak cover. “I am waiting. It is... unnerving. As it usually is when you know there is a predatory creature looming in the dark, waiting for the best moment to hit.” There was a moment of heavy silence before Yuuri talked again. “But I am sure it will not take long now. According to what you have just told me, this creature is greedy. It will not delay its hunt for too long.”

There was a strange vibration in Yuuri’s voice at those last words, but his posture and manners gave away nothing, nor did his face. Yuuri had had years to perfect the way he could present himself to external eyes, regardless of the emotional storm he could be dealing with in his mind or heart. Phichit hummed in acknowledgement and shifted the conversation without really changing the topic.

“Will the King be present at the ball, tonight?”

Yuuri nodded calmly. “He will. But he will not stay long. His Grace does not like mingling with other people, but he knows he can not offend his guests.”

Phichit laughed as if Yuuri had said the funniest thing in the world, one hand coming to cover his mouth lightly and creases forming at the side of his eyes. “And will you be there?”, he asked, behind the cover of his fingers.

Yuuri hummed non committedly, and Phichit pressed on. “He is going to miss you.”   
  
They both knew very well they weren’t talking about the King anymore.

Yuuri frowned; a hand appeared between the folds of his cloak to rise to his face and push the glasses back on the nose. “I will think about it,” he murmured.

Phichit smiled and pointed his finger at a statue, asking Yuuri to tell him about it.

_________________

The Great Hall of the Palace had been adorned in its prime by the servants. All the candles and candelabra were lit. Their light reverberated off a complex crystal-filled structure that hung from the ceiling, reflecting the rays in a kaleidoscope of colour on the walls and the polished marble floor, keeping the darkness of the night outside at bay.

Tables covered with fine tablecloths and laden with refined food were on both sides of the room, as well as the inevitable wine. A group of players, positioned on a platform along the wall farthest from the entrance doors, enlivened the atmosphere with stringed instruments and percussion: the acoustics of the room carried the music everywhere, without disturbing the conversations in progress.

All the nobility of the different kingdoms living in the Palace were present. So were the nobles of Leglein who instead came from their homes. Everyone wore their best clothes: men wore suits in rich fabrics with exquisite details; women long dresses in the trendiest colours, adorned with jewels that sparkled so much that they rivalled the crystals on the ceiling.  
Everywhere people were mingling together, chatting and, likely, gossiping about other people in the same room. Although the room was huge, the general feeling was of a crowded place. 

Victor was standing in the middle of it, surrounded by women with flirtatious attitudes, who were trying in every way to show themselves more than the others. The Prince was making an admirable effort to remain polite and smile pleasantly without encouraging any of them.

He was wearing his royal dress robes: white trousers tucked in light brown polished boots, a high-neck white button-up with golden cuffs, a deep purple sleeveless tunic with golden details which covered the Prince’s torso down to his hips, and a long cloak in golden fabric, closed on the front by two intertwined ropes in the same colour. His silver hair was perfectly coiffed, and his blue eyes were more striking than usual, underlined by thin lines of black makeup. He was indeed a sight to behold, and nobody in the room seemed truly immune by his charms.

Victor glanced towards the doors for the umpteenth time since the ball had begun one hour before, his mouth twisting in displeasure for a moment. Still no trace of Yuuri.

The Chancellor hit a glass with a fork to demand attention, and the chatter in the room died down to an indistinct hum.

“Dear guests,” King Dmitry said, his voice deep. “Thank you for coming to this gathering. I am going to retire to my rooms, but I invite you to continue the celebrations for as long as you like. I will see you again tomorrow.” 

Victor smirked. One could even believe that the King cared about the gathering, the celebration, or seeing his guests again. But given his habitual attitude, it was already a miracle that he had expressed some polite greetings in the first place.  
King Dmitry left the Great Hall between two wings of people who stepped aside and bowed respectfully to him, and after a minute, the sound in the room was restored at its previous level of noise.

Victor couldn’t say how long it had passed after the King had left. He only knew that he turned his head on a side to hide a bored yawn, still in the middle of the group of noblewomen who seemed willing not to leave him even for a moment, and there Yuuri was, next to Phichit.

Victor’s eyes widened.

Yuuri was wearing a high-neck white button-up with essential and severe lines. On the front it covered Yuuri just below the line of the hips, with two small side slits; the back was longer and split in two like a long tail touching the back of his knees. The straight-lined sleeves ended in cuffs adorned with a silver button, which grazed the backs of white-gloved hands. The black trousers adhered to Yuuri's legs, highlighting the graceful curves and elegant muscles until they slipped into the shiny black boots. Instead of the short black cape with the King's brooch, a long black cloak bordered with silver and closed by a braided cord of the same colour was placed on Yuuri's shoulders. His black hair was slicked back, with only a few rebel strands coming down to caress his forehead. Behind the lenses of his glasses, his beautiful brown eyes looked bigger than ever, probably because of the subtle black makeup, and they were staring at Victor and the group surrounding him, sparkling with some deep emotion that the Prince could not define. His expression was carefully neutral, but the fire in his eyes betrayed him. 

Yuuri’s clothes were only partly different from his usual ones, but that difference was astounding. His posture had always been gracious and sure, but now it showed something else, something sensual. When Yuuri turned his head to say something to Phichit, the long line of his neck on display, something stirred inside Victor.

Victor was abruptly brought back to reality when one of the ladies took him by the arm, rubbing her breast against his chest. The Prince turned towards the woman, barely keeping his irritation at bay and freeing himself from the grip with the utmost courtesy he could manage, but with equal firmness.

When he turned again, Yuuri was gone.

Victor cursed between his teeth, his gaze frantically searching the entire room, one step to move in the direction he had last seen him. As he did so, he caught Phichit's eye. The Lord hinted at a mischievous smile, before quickly glancing to his right and then back to Victor. The Prince looked puzzled for a moment, then comprehension dawned. 

The huge French windows leading into the garden. 

Victor nodded graciously to Phichit, which returned in kind. Next, Victor excused himself from the group of noblewomen with half-hearted words: he really couldn’t care less now, his mind single-focused. The Prince strode confidently away, avoiding groups of people or individuals who tried to attract his attention. He walked as if to leave the room, but at the last moment, he swerved towards the French windows. With a glance to make sure there wasn't too much attention on him, Victor slipped outside, closing the door behind him.

_________________  
  


The wind had cleared the sky and the night was full of stars. The moon was full and astonishingly large, and its brilliant light illuminated everywhere, creating plays of light and shadow. At the outer edge of the garden, there was a small lake, at the edge of which a stone pavilion had been built. It was large enough to accommodate a considerable number of people and to provide shelter under the flat roof in case of sudden rain. Several columns stood between the platform and the top, supporting it, and a stone fence closed the spaces between one column and another, creating a balcony high up to the waist of an adult man.

Yuuri was standing on the pavilion, facing the lake. The water reflected the twinkle of the myriad of stars in the sky, and the breeze that blew in scattered gusts rippled the liquid surface, giving the impression of the glittering fabric of a dress on a dancing body. The silence was absolute except for the dull sound of the wind and the gentle rustle of the water when the small waves rippled.

Yuuri raised a gloved hand to slowly grasp the edges of his cloak, clenching them in his fist in front of his chest.

“Here you are.”

Yuuri managed to control the gasp at the sound of the voice behind him so that only a faint tremor shook his body. He turned his face to the side with his chin lowered towards the shoulder and looked sideways at Victor. The Prince was at the entrance to the pavilion, one hand resting on the nearest column, his sea-blue eyes fixed on Yuuri, nervous. The golden cloak flapped limply behind him.

In the silence that followed, Victor stepped forward, and his boots clicked on the polished stone floor while approaching Yuuri. The Prince’s gaze roamed around, taking in the whole place. “I didn’t know there was a lake here,” he murmured, stopping two steps from Yuuri, who was still looking at him from the corner of his eye. Victor turned to face the water. “It’s beautiful.”

Yuuri turned his face again to watch in front of him, one hand raising to massage the side of his neck briefly and stopping there afterwards, fingers curving over the collar of his shirt. His head cocked on the opposite side, giving space for the whole palm covered in soft white leather to rest comfortably half on the fabric and half on the bare skin. 

“I come here any time I need quiet and space outdoors. Nobody ever comes all the way here, so it is the closest thing to a secluded place I can access.” Yuuri’s voice was soft, as he didn’t want to disturb the calm that surrounded them. There was a heartbeat of silence, then Yuuri talked again. “Your Highness, why are you here?”

“I was looking for you,” Victor answered, his fingers pushing his long, silver hair behind his ears.

“There was no reason to do that, Your Highness. I was at the ball only because I needed to speak to Lord Chulanont.” Yuuri unclenched his fist in front of his chest to raise the hand and push his glasses back on his nose with his index and middle fingers, a small smile playing on his lips. “You should go back to the-” Yuuri turned his face to look at Victor, and the words died on his lips. 

The Prince had moved in the space of a breath, and now he was directly next to Yuuri, his face leaning forward, his eyes fixed on those of the other man, an intense expression on his face.

“I’ve had enough of the ball,” Victor said, his voice made profound by the low tone due to their proximity.

“But Your Highness-,” Yuuri stammered for just a moment, a breach in his armour. Victor’s eyes shimmered in the light of the moon. “It is your chance to make the acquaintance of the nobles, form alliances-.” Another pause followed. Yuuri cursed himself for the uncertainty he felt and dropped his eyes. “-To dance with the noblewomen.”   
Yuuri felt incredibly proud he had been able to force those words past the knot in his throat and with a stable voice. 

A palm-up hand appeared in his field of vision in silent invitation.

Yuuri couldn't hold back the soft gasp that left his lips. Eyes wide in shock raised to take in Victor facing him, slightly farther than before and with his torso bent in a courteous, barely hinted bow.

“But I want to dance with you,” Victor said.

Yuuri could only stare. The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity before Victor spoke again. “Would you do me the honour?”

Yuuri knew it was a mistake. He knew. His mind was screaming in panic, the rational side of him trying to regain control, trying to analyse - _think, Yuuri, think!_

His hand moved on its own accord and the moment after Victor clasped it with his own, the warmth of his skin filtering through the leather of Yuuri’s glove, and pulled Yuuri gently close. Victor’s other hand fell on the small of Yuuri’s back, wrinkling his cloak. The grip of the Prince's hand on the other man's hand changed until Yuuri's was placed on the palm of Victor's, safe in the soft hold of his slender fingers.

Yuuri felt like nothing inside him was functioning anymore.

He could do nothing but stare; stare at the Prince, at his face illuminated by the moonlight, at the sure and tender gaze in his eyes, at the mouth bent in a reassuring smile. For the first time in years, possibly ever, Yuuri felt tied by desire and overtaken by impulse. A sea-blue light blinded his judgement, occupying his entire field of vision, every space in his mind.

Victor started to dance and held him even closer. Yuuri wondered in a daze if Victor felt the furious beating of his heart through their chests pressed together. The skin of Victor’s cheek brushed against his own, and Yuuri’s heart missed a beat.

They danced in silence, Victor leading with confidence. Their cloaks fluttered around them in their twists, sometimes enveloping their bodies for a moment before slipping away, adding caresses to touches. 

Yuuri felt utterly lost when Victor drew back from his face, and he glanced sideways in confusion. Victor was glancing from the corner of his eyes towards him. Their eyes locked, and their dance slowed until they stopped completely.

Yuuri couldn’t have said who closed that little space between them first.  
  
Victor’s eyes flickered close, but Yuuri’s remained wide open, golden sparkles catching the cold moonlight. Their lips found each other, and Yuuri’s mind exploded in a myriad of different stars.

_Oh, how I want for this moment to last forever._

Yuuri didn’t know when he had closed his eyes, but he snapped them open, panic rushing down his melted body, tensing it instantly. Victor’s eyes widened in an instant, and he broke the soft kiss, gasping. “Yuuri?” 

The Prince was still holding the other man close, but he reluctantly let go when Yuuri stepped back slowly. Yuuri raised a trembling hand, his fingertips brushing his mouth. His eyes were impossibly wide and full of panic.

“I have to go,” Yuuri whispered, and he turned haphazardly, nearly tripping over.

“Yuuri!” Victor called urgently, moving to grasp the other man’s wrist. 

But Yuuri moved faster and managed to avoid the Prince’s hand, bringing his arms snapping across his chest. The next moment he was running, blindly, trusting only his body, the cloak whipping the air behind him.

Victor’s voice calling him resounded once more in the starry night but Yuuri covered his ears with his hands and squeezed his eyes, running until he could hear the music from the Palace coming closer. Then he slowed down, so as not to arouse suspicion. He used all his knowledge of the Palace to move unseen and reach his chambers, locking himself inside.  
With his back against the door, Yuuri slid sitting on the ground, collecting himself in a ball, face buried in his arms.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Yuuri had tried so hard not to fall for the Prince, to keep his mind clear, to focus on the plan. He knew he was on borrowed time, that the King would most likely call him to his bedroom as soon as the guests would leave. He knew he needed to be cool, and collected in order not to lose his mind going through that ordeal.

Yuuri raised a trembling hand, removed the white glove with the other and brushed his lips with bare fingertips, feeling the ghost touch of Victor's lips.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

Yuuri resigned himself to a sleepless night.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👀
> 
> Please, please, PLEASE go and check the beautiful [art](https://solnyshko-uk.tumblr.com/post/642131017759621120/show-chapter-archive) the amazing CrimsonChains made for me for this chapter.


	8. Winter IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First reason why this fic is rated M.

It was long past breakfast time, and the Palace was buzzing with activities. Servants were still cleaning the Great Hall, while the guests were still mostly in their apartments, likely trying to overcome the after-effects of drinking.

Not all of them, though.

Yuuri hid behind a column of the main corridor while Victor passed by, clearly in search of someone. His handsome face showed signs of tiredness; his long hair was tied at best in a low ponytail that rocked along the back with every step. He was wearing a pair of white trousers tucked in black boots and a short purple tunic fastened by a belt at the waist. Even the tension on his features couldn’t hide his beauty. 

Yuuri closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the cold stone of the column. The memories of the evening before came back instantly and Yuuri fought the urge to reopen his eyes immediately. He wanted to bask in those memories, just for a little longer. He couldn’t face Victor, not yet, but he could at least remember.

Yuuri waited until the sound of Victor’s footsteps had almost disappeared in the distance before slipping back in the corridor, moving to walk in the opposite direction.

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri nearly tripped on his feet when Victor’s voice called him from the end of the corridor behind him. The young man cursed in his mind: Victor must have turned around for some reason and seen him. Yuuri spun on himself instinctively, eyes wide in shock. The Prince was running down the corridor towards him, an anxious expression on his face.

“Master Katsuki?”

The new voice startled Yuuri, and he turned halfway to look at the servitor who had called him from the opposite end of the corridor. Victor stopped on his steps.

“Master Katuski, the King requests your presence in the library immediately.” 

Yuuri’s heart skipped two beats. He nodded with movements he felt almost in slow motion, his mouth and tongue struggling to form words. “I will be there right away,” he heard himself saying, and the servant bowed and walked back to where he came from. Still, Yuuri couldn’t move. He felt numb; his mind was screaming in alarm. Why call him now? _Why now?_

When Yuuri turned his head to look at Victor, he was painfully aware of the sheer terror that was surely visible on his face. He saw Victor’s eyes widen in shock.

No.

Yuuri inhaled sharply and straightened his shoulders. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he reopened them, they were sharp and focused, his usual expression of calm and control back in place.

“Your Highness, I will see you later. I need to answer your father’s call first.”

With a courteous bow of his head, Yuuri turned his back to Victor and walked with his usual grace and confidence to the library.

_________________

  
“Come, Yuuri.”

Yuuri trained his gaze on the King’s chin and walked inside. All his senses were on the alert. The choice of the place for the summoning had not escaped him: it was evident that the King wanted to keep this conversation as confidential as possible. Yuuri noted that there was no book on the table. No request to read, then, and this increased his tension further.

“You called me, Your Grace?” Yuuri said in his softest tone of voice, stopping merely two steps from the King’s armchair, clasping his hands behind his back.

The King didn’t speak immediately. He kept his gaze on Yuuri for seconds that felt like years before he finally said something.

“I have been told,” King Dmitry started, his tone of voice casual, “that you went to the ball yesterday.”

Yuuri had expected so and was ready. “Yes, Your Grace. It was only for a brief visit; I had to speak with Lord Chulanont about some personal requests he made to me earlier in the afternoon.” That was close enough to the truth, and whoever surely spied on the afternoon stroll as well could confirm it happened.

“And you put on your best clothes just to speak to Lord Chulanont?” The King went on, amused.

Yuuri had thought about this as well. “As short as the visit was, Your Grace, etiquette dictated that my clothing was appropriate for the occasion. I could never have dishonoured the royal family by presenting myself at an official event unless at my best.”

The King hummed, a low vibrating sound which accompanied a small smile on the lips of the monarch. Yuuri remained impassive, waiting.

“I have also been told that the Prince disappeared suddenly from the ball. Do you have any idea about where that disgraceful son of mine could have gone?”

Yuuri could hardly suppress the thrill that nearly shook him. He tried to hide the moment of hesitation by raising his hand and pushing back the glasses on his nose. “I honestly have no idea, Your Grace. I only noticed the Prince briefly, and noblewomen were surrounding him. I did not have the chance nor the interest to know where he could go from there.” His voice was carefully controlled, but one single bead of sweat left the roots of his hair to go down his temple and caress his ear.

The King said nothing; instead, he beckoned Yuuri closer with his hand. Yuuri fought the paralysis of his twitching muscles and approached the King, bending over to one knee once there was no more distance between them. His gaze shifted to the side on the floor as the King's hand came down to cup his cheek.

“Of course you are not interested. You are mine after all,” King Dmitry said, with a smug tone of voice. And then “Come to my rooms tonight, Yuuri.”

Yuuri froze. He felt like a sudden and lethal chill held his entire body in a deadly grip. Every single part inside him was screaming in terror, urging him to escape, to get to safety, to do something, anything to escape that condemnation which amounted to a death sentence. But his muscles wouldn't move.  
Yuuri had hoped that knowing that it could happen had prepared him to face the moment with greater clarity. He had been so sure the King would at least wait until the guests had left the Palace, to avoid the risk of rumours.

How wrong he had been.

“Do not worry, Yuuri.” King Dmitry’s voice seemed to come from a great distance. “I shall not hurt you.” There was such a tone of satisfaction in the King's voice that Yuuri felt nausea rise in his throat.

Yuuri was still motionless on his knee when the door of the library clicked close behind him, leaving him alone and shaking uncontrollably. 

_________________  
  


_Your Lordship,  
  
_

_The creature you told me about had made his appearance at last._

_I fear for the night to come, for the danger is real.  
  
_

_May your blessing be enough.  
  
_

_Y._

_________________

The sunset found Yuuri in his rooms, dressed in his usual clothes, a strange calm washed over him. He had managed to avoid Victor for the rest of the day, not daring to go in the secret room or at the pavilion for the fear the Prince could look for him even there.

Yuuri moved to the shelf behind his desk and took the book that had been given to him by Phichit almost two weeks ago. After placing it on the wooden surface of the desk, he opened the cover and took the remaining vial, the one with the purple liquid, and a long thin pin that he had placed alongside the vial on the day of his birthday.  
With the utmost caution, Yuuri opened the vial and dipped the pin into the liquid up to halfway, holding it in place and counting to five. Then he moved to a corner of the room and poured the remaining liquid inside a crack that interrupted the smooth surface of the stone floor.   
Next, he recovered a small handkerchief and fixed the pin into the fabric, tucking it inside the sleeve of his shirt, taking care to keep the tip away from his skin.

Finally, Yuuri took the empty vial and the now useless book and approached the roaring fire in his fireplace, throwing both of them into the flames without a moment of hesitation. However things were going to go that night, he wasn't going to drag Phichit down with him.

Once he was sure that the glass was melted and the book unrecognisable, Yuuri turned and left his rooms.

The sunlight had long since gone out and only the darkness of the night pressed against the windows of the Palace. Yuuri's footsteps were so light they didn't even make a sound. He met a couple of servants busy cleaning up after dinner, and both gave him only a respectful nod before going on with their chores. 

Fortunately, Yuuri saw no trace of Victor.   
He honestly wouldn't have known how to handle him too, when what little clarity he kept his grip on was aimed at what he had to do shortly after that.

It seemed to him that only a moment had passed when he found himself in front of the doors of the King's private rooms. Yuuri took a moment to check the position of the pin and inhaled deeply, before knocking slowly three times.

“It’s Yuuri Katsuki, Your Grace.”

Yuuri had to wait only a couple of seconds before the King’s voice came from the other side of the doors.

“Come in.”

Yuuri steeled himself and opened the door on the right, slipping inside. He turned to close it behind him, softly, so as not to cause a thud that probably would have reminded him of a cage closing around him. 

He moved to face the King, only to find the man on the bed, still dressed, beckoning him closer. Yuuri moved, feeling strangely detached from his body. The next moment, King Dmitry’s arms were surrounding him, and the man’s face was pressed on his chest. Yuuri had to plant his nails nastily in the heels of his hands to avoid recoiling, bile filling his stomach.

“I had waited for a long time to have you here, Yuuri.”

The King’s voice was low, so full of desire and lust that the skin stood on Yuuri's arms. With a supreme effort of will, the boy managed to keep his body from straining to the sound.

“I don’t deserve such adoration, Your Grace.” Yuuri moved his arms to encircle the King's neck, the wrists overlapping as in a barely hinted hug.

“But of course you do, my precious boy.” King Dmitry moved his face away from Yuur’s chest and looked up with a slimy smile.   
Yuuri moved his hands subtly until he extracted the pin from the fabric.

“Now, would you like some wine?” The King asked, before raising one hand to grab Yuuri’s chin. “Or maybe we should just start...,” he said, his voice a murmur, before leaning towards the boy’s face.

Yuuri acted out of pure instinct. The hand holding the pin shot to the King’s forearm, the tip, held firmly between the index and the middle fingers, planting itself in the skin alongside the nails of the other fingers; the other hand shot up to cover the King’s mouth when it was merely a breath away from Yuuri’s. The King's face contorted for a moment, his eyebrows furrowed, and Yuuri clenched his nails in his forearm further, hoping to distract the King from the sharper sting.

“Wait, Your Grace,” Yuuri said, in his most mellow tone. “You were not the only one who waited for a long time. Let us not rush this, shall we?” The King narrowed his eyes, suspicious. Yuuri removed his hands and put them again around the King’s neck, the pin finding its way back in the fabric inside the cuff. “Why don’t we play a little? Give me enough time to hide in this room and then find me. If you win, you will be able to do to me whatever you wish.” Yuuri put the most inviting smile on his lips, his fingers playing coyly with the King’s hair. He desperately tried not to think how similar to Victor’s they looked.

Suspicion gave way to intrigue, and the King smiled, predatory. “So be it, Yuuri. Let's play.” 

Yuuri drew back slowly, getting out of bed and tilting his head slightly to one side, waiting.

Kind Dmitry closed his eyes and started counting.

“One.”

Yuuri moved as silently as possible, hiding behind a chest of drawers, his heart beating in his chest madly.

“Two.”

“Three-”

The King’s body laid down slowly on the bed.

“Fo-”

The King's voice trailed off and did not resume. Yuuri waited with bated breath until he heard a soft snore. 

Only then did Yuuri dare to raise himself on shaking legs. He took a few steps, tensely observing the figure of the sleeping King as if expecting him to wake up at any moment. When it didn’t happen, Yuuri went to the door and slipped out, closing it behind him in silence.

Almost in a trance, Yuuri began to walk back towards his rooms.

Once far enough from the King's apartments, Yuuri dropped the pin behind the curtains of one of the windows, where nobody would find it for days, maybe weeks. At that point, the effect of the potion would have ceased anyway.

With the last task finished, Yuuri finally found himself free to think about what he had done, and the enormity of the situation hit him like a mallet.   
What could he do now?   
Yuuri had escaped the King for this night, but he had used his only weapon, and he wasn’t going to have another chance. It should have been very different. Yuuri should have already had a way out, a place where he could hide once he escaped, possibly far from Leglein.

But all his potential allies were still in the Palace, and the events of the last few days and the night before, in particular, had distracted Yuuri enough to make him make the fatal mistake of not planning a way out in case the King acted before a safe place to hide was ready for him.

And even what he did, use the vial and flee, was supposed to be only a last resort in case something really wrong was going to happen. The original plan had Yuuri giving the King what he wanted in order to keep him sated and distracted, while the rest of the plan was put into motion.

Yuuri was accustomed to the idea of sacrificing himself for the greater good for a long time.   
But he hadn't expected falling for Victor and how that simple fact could change his mindset on the matter, making the idea of giving himself to the King unbearable and rushing him to use his only way out in order to avoid it.

Awareness dawned on Yuuri: he had only postponed his sentence.   
Nothing would save him from the King the next night.

Yuuri turned the corner of the corridor leading to his rooms as he felt helpless tears rise to his eyes widened in horror. He faltered and had to stop, a sob shaking his chest, his hands clasping his mouth. He was trembling violently.  
 _What can I do now? What can I do? WhatcanIdowhat-_

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri jerked his head up, in time to see Victor break away from the wall next to the door of Yuuri's apartment and run towards him.

“Yuuri! Yuuri, what’s wrong? Why are you shaking? Yuuri! Talk to me, Yuuri.”

Yuuri could only stare at Victor, like the night before, feeling the Prince's hands on his shoulders, digging in their flesh, worried. His darkened mind was utterly overwhelmed by that light of the colour of the sea, and all in a sudden everything was clear. 

“Your Highness,” Yuuri said, his voice hoarse with fear and something else, something that was becoming stronger every moment. “I am yours.”

Victor stared at him, utterly still.

"Yuuri?" It was barely louder than a whisper.

Yuuri moved closer, adhering his body to the Prince’s. He stood up slightly on his toes, his lips brushing the other man's ear. “Make me yours, Your Highness. Please.”

Something snapped in Victor, concerns forgotten, and Yuuri felt the Prince’s hand grab his wrist, before turning to pull Yuuri towards the door of his apartment. Victor dragged them both across the threshold with such vehemence that Yuuri nearly tripped. The Prince only stopped long enough to lock the door, after which Yuuri found himself pinned to the wall.

"Say it again," Victor growled, eyes darkened and voice strained.

"Make me yours," Yuuri replied, breathless, and then Victor's mouth was on his.

They were both inexperienced, but that didn’t seem to matter at all. Where experience was lacking, instincts took over.

Kisses turned quickly into an open-mouthed mess, their hands roaming on chests and hips. Victor’s tongue took possession of Yuuri’s mouth, licking and exploring, and Yuuri couldn’t suppress a moan, his eyes fluttering shut. It only seemed to rouse the Prince even more.  
Victor’s mouth left Yuuri’s to move on his jaw, below his ear, on his neck. Yuuri tilted back his head against the wall, and Victor’s flat tongue ran over his throat up to his chin, then the Prince's mouth descended along the moistened skin with burning kisses, only stopping when he reached the edge of Yuuri’s shirt collar.

Victor’s hands grabbed Yuuri’s hips, his fingers digging in the soft flesh over the fabric, and Yuuri moaned again. The Prince dropped onto his knees and started pressing kisses on Yuuri’s still-trousered left leg, from the knee up the whole thigh until he reached the hipbone. Then he moved on the right leg to do the same.   
All the while, Victor held Yuuri pinned to the wall by pressing with his hands on his hips.

Yuuri started squirming and whining, his head shooting from side to side, his hips uselessly pushing against the hands that kept them still. His fingers tangled in Victor’s hair, undoing the lace which was holding it tied, and Yuuri tried not to give in to the urge to grip hard and tug. 

“Your Highness,” he managed to say with laboured breathing, “bed. Take me to my bed.”

Victor reacted as a spring released. He stood up again and grabbed Yuuri under his thighs, lifting him up. Yuuri startled and instinctively surrounded the Prince’s hips with his legs, his arms around his neck. Victor moved to enter the bedroom and placed Yuuri on the bed carefully, before climbing up after him and leaning over him. 

“You are so beautiful,” Victor breathed, his striking sea-blue eyes entirely focused on Yuuri, his long silver hair falling around his face and pooling on Yuuri's chest. The Prince moved his hands to remove Yuuri's glasses and put them on the bedside table, before shifting back, hovering over Yuuri's face.

Yuuri raised his head to press his lips against Victor's in an urgent kiss. “Mark me, Your Highness. Mark me, so that I know who I belong to, so that everyone will know,” he whispered fiercely. Victor moaned.

Their hands started pulling clumsily at each others' clothing. Victor pushed Yuuri’s shirt right off his shoulders and trailed his mouth on Yuuri's chest before going up along the collarbone and reaching the juncture of Yuuri’s neck and shoulder. The Prince lingered for a moment and then bit hard, and Yuuri screamed, partly in pain and partly in pleasure. Victor licked and sucked on the bitten spot, Yuuri arching his back under him, his hips desperately grinding against the other man’s, feeling both of them growing hard.

Victor growled, a low rumbling sound coming from the back of his throat and pushed down with his hips to grind against Yuuri. 

The Prince finally released the spot on the other man’s neck, leaving a red, angry mark surrounded by the imprinting of his teeth that would linger for days, and trailed back down Yuuri’s chest, licking his nipples and ripping moans from Yuuri's throat.

Yuuri felt like every kiss was leaving a searing trail on his pale skin. He gripped the sheets between clenched fingers, releasing incoherent, encouraging sounds. His mind was lost in pleasure, and he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. And he most definitely didn’t want to.

Yuuri had made up his mind: if he were to be possessed by someone, he would be the one to decide who that someone was. 

“Please, Your Highness. Please,” he breathed desperately.

“Please what, Yuuri?” Victor murmured, his lips trailing down Yuuri’s stomach and approaching the waistband of his trousers.

“I want to- ah. Be yours. Please- Your Highness-,” another gasp, “I need-”

Victor raised his head only enough to plant his eyes in Yuuri’s, searching, his pupils so blown his eyes looked black.

“Are you sure?” The Prince’s voice was strained, and Yuuri admired his self-control, touched by the fact that despite everything Victor still bothered to ask for confirmation.

Yuuri struggled to turn into Victor’s grasp enough to reach for the bedside table. He pulled a small bottle out of the drawer and pushed it between Victor's fingers. “I have never been more sure of something in my life,” Yuuri answered, his gaze heated, before threading his fingers again in Victor’s hair, pulling lightly. "I swear to be yours only, Your Highness. Claim me."

Victor swallowed visibly, his gaze flared. “We will learn together. Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” he murmured ardently, before dropping his lips softly on Yuuri’s hipbone, just above the waistband of his trousers, nipping at the fabric lightly.

And Yuuri did his best, against the exhilaration in his mind and the waves of pleasure in his body; until all that remained was the feeling of Victor's fingers and body and the echo of their voices whispering encouragement and praises, calling each other. 

Until the whole universe exploded in Yuuri’s mind, transporting him in a plane of existence where everything was safe and warm and smelled like Victor before gentle darkness claimed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *goes hiding*


	9. Winter V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there's a mention of violence in the form of a slap. There's also a mention of nudity and the effect of the cold on a naked body. Nothing is in great detail.
> 
> Deep breath everyone.

Yuuri woke up with the howling sound of the wind out of his window. It was still very early, just an idea of daylight to illuminate a gloomy sky, with the smell of a storm. Yuuri turned his gaze to look beside him, at the head of soft silvery hair scattered on the pillow next to him. Victor was sleeping on his side, turning his back to Yuuri, the rhythmic sound of his breath muffled but visible on the rising and falling of his shoulders.  
Yuuri stretched out his fingers to lightly touch the skin of the Prince’s bare shoulder but immediately retracted them when Victor stirred at the contact. 

Yuuri didn’t want to wake him up; it would only make things even more difficult.

Moving as silently as possible, Yuuri got out of bed and took his glasses from the bedside table. Then he retrieved his clothes scattered around on the floor. A small smile made its way to his lips at the memory of how they’d ended up that way, but it didn't last long. Yuuri went on to carry out his morning routine, and eventually, he put on the same clothes. He could change them, they were in his rooms after all, but he didn't want to. As he buttoned the white shirt, his fingers hesitated. Looking in the mirror, Yuuri stared for long moments at the mark on his neck: the red was less intense than the night before, but the imprints of the teeth were even more evident. 

Yuuri considered his reflection for a long moment. His muffled hair, his tired haunted eyes, his lips still puffy after having been kissed for hours. His gaze hardened, resolution flaring, and his fingers slipped off the collar of his shirt, leaving it unbuttoned to the collarbones. The mark stood proudly over the short black cape that fell on his shoulder, mocking the royal crest.

Yuuri walked with soft steps to the desk in the next room, retrieving paper and a pen. For a moment, he looked towards the window at the snow falling outside, swirling in the strong wind, as if looking for inspiration; then he leaned over his desk and wrote his message.  
After putting everything back in place, Yuuri went back into the bedroom and moved towards the side of the bed where Victor was sleeping. With delicate fingers, he placed the message on the bedside table closest to the Prince and turned to leave. 

After just two steps, however, Yuuri stopped again, looking over his shoulder.

He shouldn’t indulge.  
He really shouldn’t.  
But at this point, he could afford to be selfish one last time.

Yuuri walked back and bent over the sleeping Prince. His hands dipped into the mattress slightly, while his lips brushed Victor's temple with a touch as light as breath.

“Thank you,” Yuuri whispered, fighting desperately against the tears that suddenly pressed behind his eyes and the knot that tightened his throat. He wouldn’t cry.

Yuuri straightened up again and took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, regaining control on his emotions; then, he walked out of the room, leaving behind the unaware Prince without turning back. 

Yuuri would face the King, and an almost certain death sentence, with his head held high, focusing only on the memories of the night he had spent in Victor's arms.

If he were to die, he would die free and with a heart full of love.

_________________

The light of a flash illuminated the King's chambers for a moment, almost blinding, before the rumble of distant thunder vibrated along the walls of the room.

Yuuri was standing calmly in front of the King; his arms relaxed at his sides. The fingers of King Dmitry’s left hand were gripping Yuuri's hair, pulling to the side and exposing the entire curve of his neck to view. From the position in which his head was forced, Yuuri could observe the King only from the corner of his eye, some locks of hair brushing his eyes and forehead. The young man's face was perfectly calm, but the straight line of his lips and the gaze in his eyes contained a silent challenge.

The King brought his face closer, and Yuuri closed his eyes without moving, a silent refusal to acknowledge the sovereign's gestures. King Dmitry watched for a few moments the mark displayed on Yuuri's neck in silence, and then straightened up.

Yuuri felt the grip on his hair go away and opened his eyes again. The King's face was impassive, but Yuuri saw a blind fury in his eyes.

The next moment, the King's large hand dropped on Yuuri’s face in a slap so violent that the glasses flew off Yuuri's nose. It knocked the young man to his knees on the carpet, his cheek reddened with the finger marks perfectly visible.

Yuuri remained motionless, trying to recover from the shock, his breath laboured.

“You.” The King’s low voice dripped with poison. “You will sorely regret your poor judgement.” Yuuri didn’t raise his head, only reaching out to retrieve the glasses on the carpet not far from him with a trembling hand.

King Dmitry called his guards, loudly. Two soldiers stepped in the rooms shortly after, coming to attention.

The King looked down at Yuuri’s still kneeling figure in disgust. “Strip him bare and expose him in the courtyard.”

Yuuri felt hands grabbing his arms and closed his eyes, taking refuge in his memories.

_________________

Victor stretched lazily, blinking in confusion. For a moment, he simply laid down, staring at the ceiling, taking in the sound of the howling wind outside the window.

When a flash ghostly lit up the room, it was as if it had suddenly brightened Victor's mind too, and the Prince sat up in bed, the sheets pooling on his lap.

“Yuuri?” He called, frowning when no answer came back.

Victor put his hand on the empty side of the bed, finding it cold.   
Where could Yuuri have gone for so long?

Victor threw his legs off the bed to get up, and as he did so, he noticed something on his bedside table out of the corner of his eye. The Prince turned his head to get a better look: the sight of the note caused a tightening in his throat. Victor stretched out his right hand, hesitating, until he took the piece of paper folded in half between his fingers, opening it slowly.

 _I love you.  
_ _Thank you._

Victor felt his entire body paralysed in an icy grip. Panic took possession of his mind, painting dozens of potential scenarios, all in which Yuuri was in danger.   
That message sounded all too much like a goodbye.

Victor got out of his stillness and ran to retrieve his clothes on the ground. His mind immediately registered the absence of Yuuri's. He was out somewhere, and something was wrong. Victor hastily put on his clothes, not caring that they were wrinkled, Yuuri’s note ending in the pocket of his trousers. He tied his hair into a low ponytail without brushing it. There was no time for vanity; a voice inside him kept telling him to hurry, faster, _faster_.

The prince ran out of the room, throwing the door open with such intensity that it closed behind him after bouncing against the wall. The corridor was empty, and Victor moved towards the common area. He would look for other guests or servants and ask them if they had seen Yuuri and where he could find him.

Outside the Palace, the snow continued to fall incessantly from the gloomy sky in swirls created by the wind.

Victor began to feel his heart beating faster the moment he realised there was no one in sight. It was breakfast time; the servants should have been around bringing food to the great hall for the guests. Without thinking, his swift pace turned into a run, his footsteps echoing in the corridors.

The great hall was completely deserted. The tables were set, and some plates with leftover food had been left lying around. It looked as if someone had started eating, and something had then attracted their attention elsewhere.

Victor turned on his heel and ran towards the atrium of the Palace. Everything in him was screaming _wrong, wrong, wrong,_ but the Prince had no idea what to do, where to start.  
He had almost reached his destination when finally, the silhouette of a soldier appeared in his field of vision, near the main entrance which was open on the outside. 

For a moment, Victor wondered why the door was open in such weather, but soon his mind focused on the most pressing issue. “You!” He called. 

The soldier turned his head towards Victor, and the Prince could see his eyes widened, as well as how pale the man looked. Victor stopped his run just before crashing into the soldier, his breathing heavy; he bent his torso, placing his hands on his knees for a moment, trying to bring his frantic heartbeat back to a more normal pace. 

"Yuuri- Master Katsuki- Did you see him?" He managed to say, between breaths.

The soldier hesitated, glancing at the open door and then turning his eyes away from the Prince. Victor's hand snapped to grab the front of the soldier's tunic, his hand clenched in a fist around the fabric.

“Where is he? Where is everyone?” Victor could feel the fear rising in his chest, clenching at his throat.

“Your Highness-,” the soldier started, hesitant, but Victor tightened his grip even more, bringing his face closer to the man’s, his eyes blazing with anger and fear.

“WHERE IS HE?” The Prince shouted, and the soldier flinched, before raising a trembling arm to point towards the open main entrance. “...The courtyard...,” he only managed to say. 

Victor was already running outside, heedless of snow and frost.

It didn’t take long for him to notice the vast gathering of people standing in the courtyard, in front of the stage used for the past days’ celebrations. The wind made it challenging to recognise the people wrapped in their heavy coats that were shaken continuously, but the colours were unmistakable. Apparently, all the noble guests at the Palace were in the same open place for some reason, along with servants, soldiers and guards. Everyone was facing the stage, but as he approached, Victor noticed how especially in the ranks of servants and guards, many had their faces averted, as if they could not tolerate what they were looking at.

Victor was halfway between the Palace and the stage when his gaze rose above the heads of those present, towards a vertical pole mounted on the stand that had not been there the day before.

Suddenly Victor felt such an overwhelming chill in his body that the outside wind and snow ceased to exist. He felt like everything in his body had stopped functioning, his mind incapable of processing the sight in front of him.

Yuuri was standing on the stage, tied to the wooden pole, arms stretched back and wrists locked, completely naked. His body was shaking uncontrollably, and his head was bowed down, his black hair blowing in the wind and covered with snowflakes. 

“Yuuri-”

It was just a whisper lost in the wind, all that Victor was able to let out through his tight throat. 

Before his brain could process, his feet were already moving. At first, with wobbly, uncertain steps, moving forward. Despite the wind blowing snowflakes like fragments of ice in his eyes, Victor never took his eyes off Yuuri. He was like a sailor attracted to a mermaid, only the mermaid did not sing smiling beautifully, but hung from the figurehead of the ship of a merciless ruler, deprived of its wonderful gist.

_Yuuri._

His steps increased, became surer. He reached the first line of backs and started making his way through people, using his hands, elbows and shoulders to create a passage, propriety be damned. Nothing existed in his world but the bound and trembling figure before him.

_Yuuri._

Victor was vaguely aware of his name being spoken, of people complaining and others moving out of his way before he could hit them, of sympathetic looks and others calculating. He couldn’t care less. The whole Leglein could start burning right now, and he still wouldn’t care about anything else but

_Yuuri._

The Prince was close now. Close enough to see Yuuri’s feet dark and scratched because of the prolonged contact with the snowy wood, to notice the pale skin of his body turning bluish in some parts, to take in the violent and constant tremor that shook him. The boy’s head was still turned down, and the red spot on his neck - _Victor’s mark_ \- stood out on his skin. Victor had no idea for how long Yuuri was undergoing this torture, but he had to do something, anything. He had to see his eyes; he had to make Yuuri aware that Victor was there with him, for him.

He pushed out of his way another person and opened his mouth to call out Yuuri’s name-

A firm hand grabbed his arm, and Victor startled. He tugged on his arm to free himself, but the grip resisted, tightening further. Victor started to turn on himself, ready to hit anyone who was trying to keep him away from Yuuri with the same lethality of a snake, but a dry and imperious voice, however low, stopped him.

“Hold back, Your Highness. And do not turn towards me.”

Victor blinked and froze on the spot, uncertain. His hurting heart was screaming for him to keep going, but his brain stuttered for just a moment under the commanding words. 

“Do not make his sacrifice useless.”

Phichit Chulanont.   
Victor's brain provided that piece of information within the chaos raging inside him. The Prince glanced towards him and sucked in a sharp breath. The usually cheerful Lord was deathly pale under the tanned tone of his skin, his lips pressed into a line so thin that the skin around it was white with pressure. He was wearing a warm cloak, the large hood resting on his head, and despite the wind, his face was covered enough to conceal his features and hide his words. The hand gripping Victor’s arm was trembling, but Victor was sure it wasn’t because of the cold.

“But-,” Victor started, his voice desperate, his face turning again towards Yuuri.

Hard, unafraid pools of brown locked with Victor’s eyes and deprived him of any rational capacity. 

With his face still bent down, from under the tufts of his unruly hair and behind the lenses of his glasses, Yuuri’s eyes stared at Victor with an intensity that knocked the breath from the Prince's lungs. The movement of Yuuri’s head, his opposition to Victor’s approaching, was so weak that anybody else but the Prince could mistake it for another shiver. The young man’s glance, though, was indisputable. 

“It was his choice, Your Highness,” Lord Chulanont spoke again, low and implacable. “Honour it. Honour his bravery. He defied the King in the most insulting way after years of holding back and enduring. You are seeing only the edges of Master Katsuki’s strength and dedication.” There was pride and absolute admiration in Phichit’s voice.

Victor took in Yuuri’s right cheek, swollen and reddened by what resembled a hard hit, his lower lip split and puffy and smeared with dried blood. The Prince felt the blood rising to his brain and a blinding fury clouding everything else. Lord Chulanont, feeling the arm tensing under his fingers, murmured, lashing “Do not give him what he wants, Your Highness. He is watching. He was the one who gathered all of us here, to watch. He is waiting for you to expose yourself. He suspects, but does not have proof. If you act recklessly now, he will have your head and you will leave Yuuri at his mercy."

Victor didn’t move, but turned oh so slightly his head on the right, towards the Palace and a balcony on the first floor. With the corner of his eye, he saw King Dmitry sitting comfortably in an armchair, wrapped in a thick cloak and protected from the snow and the wind by two servants holding a canopy, watching the stand and the people gathered.

Victor felt his father's eyes on him, waiting, and imagined all too well the cruel smile that surely curled his lips.

The King moved a hand, and Victor’s attention snapped back on the stage, where two guards were stepping on and moving towards Yuuri. Victor fought with every inch of his will to stand still and don’t give in to the feral instinct of sprinting forward and killing them before they could lay one finger on Yuuri.

“Katsuki Yuuri,” the voice of the Chancellor sounded solemn in the silence of the courtyard. “By order of the King, you will now be taken to the prison and locked up until you have recovered your judgment.”

The guards untied Yuuri from the pole, and the young man collapsed to his knees as soon as he was deprived of his support, too weak and shaken by tremors to react. The two men grabbed him from under his arms, not without gentleness, Victor noticed, and they dragged him off the stage, where a cloak was unceremoniously thrown over his shoulders. 

Yuuri was taken away, and the crowd slowly began to disperse. Victor looked around for the first time and noticed the expressions on the other nobles’ faces. Most wore a mask of detachment, but angry disgust burned in their eyes; others made no effort to hide their contempt, and Victor knew for sure that Yuuri wasn’t the recipient. Even among the ranks of servants and soldiers, Victor noticed anger and discomfort. But he also took notice of all those who instead made contemptuous comments towards Yuuri, probably feeling entitled to let their tongues run free now that the young man had fallen from grace.

“It is not over yet,” Phichit said, moving to walk back towards the Palace, releasing his firm grip on Victor’s arm. “The King is probably aiming at breaking Master Katsuki in prison, hoping that he will eventually relent and submit to his will.”

“I’m going to kill him,” Victor whispered, and Phichit raised an eyebrow. “I’m going to make him suffer. I will cancel that smug expression from his heinous face and replace it with fear as he has never felt before.”

Phichit exchanged a look with his father, who had stood silently and apparently impassively next to them the whole time, and Victor noticed how the Duke was restraining his emotions under control resulting from years of practice. Father and son nodded briefly, and Phichit hummed.

“Your Highness, I think it is time to save not only Master Katuski but also all the populations of the Kingdoms subject to the King's rule.” There was a pause, and Phichit’s black eyes, burning dark, finally met Victor’s. “Master Katuski believes you are destined to be the King he has always wanted to see on the throne. Are you, Victor Nikiforov?”

There was a challenge in Phichit’s voice, but also a prayer.

Victor’s eyes didn’t waver, nor they broke the eye contact. He thought again of Yuuri’s gaze, the strength, the unshakable confidence. He remembers his smile, his laugh, his touch.

 _I swear to be yours only_ , _Your Highness._

“What is the plan?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations, you survived Winter. ❤️


	10. Winds of Spring I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No living creature is harmed in this chapter.

The young girl waited patiently in the kitchen until the poor soup was scooped in a bowl and put on the tray, along with a slice of stale bread and a withered apple.   
She pulled the cloak over her shoulders and raised the hood over her head. With a nod towards the cook, the girl took the tray in her hands and walked up the stairs towards the entrance door of the Palace. Once out in the courtyard, she headed for the main gates. The wind was blowing hard, and the snow crunched under the soles of her shoes. Large flakes were pushed into the uncovered bowl of soup, cooling it quickly.  
With a nod to the guards at the gate, the girl turned right following the outer walls of the Palace. 

Close to the corner where the walls folded to surround the residence of the King and its garden, there was another building in dark stone. One of its walls adhered to the external walls of the Palace and a sturdy locked door of solid wood closed the passage between the building and the edge of the central internal courtyard. When the Palace wanted to take someone prisoner without making it public, that door proved to be quite useful.  
The building was square and devoid of any decoration, an ode to practicality. At each level, several windows open on the walls at regular intervals, all protected by solid bars.   
The prison looked solid and awe-inspiring.

The girl walked unhurriedly to the prison gate and stopped for the routine inspection of the tray by the guards. Once inside, she made her way up the stairs towards the third and top floor, breathing slightly heavier at each flight.

Just before leaving the second floor, the girl stopped on the landing near the corner of the corridor, placing the tray on the floor as quietly as possible. Another guard, slightly hidden around the corner, reached out and passed her a small sack made of cloth without a word. She took it and tied it to her belt, placing the folds of the cloak to cover it entirely. Then, she bent to pick up the tray from the ground and, with a small bow of his head towards the man, resumed her way up.

Once she reached the third floor, she turned left and walked confidently towards the last door at the end of the corridor, watched by another soldier. The girl let out a small, relieved sigh when she recognised the stoic-looking man and didn't hide a brief smile that was returned by a quick nod. The guard opened the cell door, and the girl entered without hesitation. The door shut behind her.

The prisoner sat in a chair by the window, a worn but warm blanket over his shoulders. Threadbare, cream-coloured trousers and tunic covered his figure, and a pair of soft slippers protected his feet, wrapped in bandages up to his ankles. His hands rested on his lap, and his wrists showed healing bruises and abrasions. The prisoner was looking outside the window, and only his black hair, messy and dirty, was visible.

The girl went to the small table placed near the wall and put down the tray. In addition to the table and chair, the cell only had a hardwood bed and a corner equipped for necessary ablutions, whose privacy was guaranteed only by a sliding curtain.  
The temperature in the cell was not cold, but drafts were coming through the closed window due to the outside wind, preventing the room from warming up enough to be pleasant.

The girl took the bowl of now-cold soup and walked to the corner for the ablutions, getting rid of it quickly. Back at the table, the girl put the empty bowl, the stale bread and the withered apple to one side, and turned to make a small bow.

"Master Katsuki, I bring you gifts," she said, in a low, musical voice.

Yuuri finally turned his head to look at the girl. His face was ashen, black shadows under his large brown eyes, framed by his glasses. A gentle smile curled his lips as far as the cut on his lower lip, also on the mend, allowed.

"Thanks, Isabella. But you shouldn't take these risks; I’ve told you many times. What would happen if you were caught?" Yuuri scolded, gently.

"We know our way around, Master Katsuki. People rarely give enough credit to what servants and guards learn during their shifts." Isabella answered, keeping a respectful tone of voice. There was a brief pause. "The cook sends her apologies again."

"Tell her not to worry. I don't want anyone to take any kind of risk for me." Yuuri said, arching an eyebrow suggestively.

In answer, the girl fumbled under her cloak and released the cloth bag. Once she opened it, she took out a loaf of fresh bread, some cheese, some slices of dried meat, fresh fruit and a canteen, and put it all on the tray. With a few steps, she then took it all to Yuuri and gently placed it on his lap.

"Leo sends his regards. In his own way, so does Otabek, who is outside the door, guarding."

Yuuri shook his head slightly, with a smile, and slowly began to eat something, keeping aside most of the food that Isabella arranged to put back in the cloth bag. There was excellent quality beer in the canteen, and Yuuri took a few sips, grateful.

"Is there any news?" Yuuri asked when the tray was cleaned and the bag with the food safely placed under the bed.

Isabella searched inside her cloak and pulled out a small envelope.

"His Lordship sends you this," she said, handing it to Yuuri, who took it with a nod of his head. His gaze became slightly wistful, and Isabella smiled to herself. Rummaging a moment longer, she pulled out a sheet of paper folded in two. It was a page torn from a book. "And this is from _ him _ ."

Yuuri's eyes snapped up, and he grabbed the paper with slightly trembling fingers.

Isabella returned to the table. After retrieving the empty bowl and putting it on the tray, the girl went back to the door and knocked twice. The door opened, and Isabella bowed slightly, although aware that Yuuri only had eyes for the paper between his fingers.

"Take care, Master Katsuki."

***

The door closed with a thud, leaving Yuuri alone in the silence of the room. After taking a couple of deep breaths, he resolved to open the page.

_ For the highs and lows  
_ _ And moments between,  
_ _ Mountains and valleys,   
_ _ And rivers and streams,  
_ _ For where you are now  
_ _ And where you will go,  
_ _ For “I’ve always known”  
_ _ and “I told you so,”  
_ _ For “nothing is happening,”  
_ _ And “all has gone wrong,”  
_ _ It’s here in this journey  
_ _ You will learn to be strong,  
_ _ You will get where you’re going,  
_ _ landing where you belong. _

Yuuri couldn't hold back a sob as tears ran down his cheeks. He hugged the page to his chest and allowed himself some time to let out the knot of emotions that had been in danger of collapsing inside him for a week, since the day he had faced the King.

His feet still bore the marks of near-freezing and his wrists the memory of the ropes that had tied him to the pole. His spirit, however, was neither bent nor broken. The memory of Victor's eyes, of the blinding fury Yuuri had read in them, still burned vividly in his mind. Yuuri’d had to appeal to all his self-control not to give in to that desperate anger, not to succumb to the temptation of letting Victor save him from that torture. 

But there was so much more at stake. 

Yuuri was just a piece on the board, and like all pieces, he had a single purpose: to protect his king and checkmate the opponent.

Yuuri folded the paper and put it inside his tunic, against his heart. Passing light fingers to wipe the traces of tears from his face, Yuuri opened Phichit's letter and began to read.

_________________  


The snipping of the scissors was the only sound filling Victor’s rooms.    


The Prince was sitting on a chair positioned in front of the window; his back and head were straight, his feet firmly on the ground and his legs slightly apart, his hands placed on the knees. His sea-blue eyes gazed at the sunset outside, unfocused. There was something very distant in Victor’s expression, something that clearly showed how his thoughts were far away from the room in which he was sitting.

The scissors kept working, and more and more strands of silver hair fell to the floor.

Apart from the words spoken at the beginning of their encounter, the Prince and the royal barber’s apprentice hadn’t engaged in any conversation. The young servant had reacted with a shocked expression to Victor's request and had dared to ask the Prince if he was sure of his decision. The Prince had simply nodded, going to sit in the exact position he was still in now. Since then, he hadn't looked away or said another word.

Ten days had passed since Yuuri had been imprisoned by the King. The delegations had left the following day, once the official ceremony that had ended the gathering was over, and the Prince had been left alone with too much free time.  
Victor had tried to keep himself as busy as possible; every time he was alone, he felt like he was going crazy. 

His nights were restless, often spent tossing and turning in the bed. When he was exhausted enough to fall asleep, nightmares visited him. They were often similar, all turning around the memory of Yuuri tied to the pole, bleeding and defenceless. Sometimes it was so bad that Victor woke up screaming, eyes wide open and absolute terror gripping his heart. 

He couldn’t afford to lose himself in fear and worries, though. There was so much to do, and he had started to work on the information he had. Duke Chulanont and his son had informed Victor of part of their plans during a meeting held in the middle of their last night at the Palace. However, they had preferred to avoid going into too much detail given the situation. They were supposed to meet again in a few days, taking advantage of the fact that the King still seemed to be too busy with his anger to care about what his son might do.

In the meantime, Victor had taken another decision. 

The snipping was, in some way, cathartic. It accompanied the Prince's thoughts with his steady rhythm, interrupted only by the occasional sweep of the brush.   
Victor had always been very proud of his hair. His mother had taught him to care for it since he was a child, and it had always been a source of pride for him, even during his years on the street. 

But he felt so different now, so very different from the young man who had arrived at the Palace less than one year earlier, naive and full of pride and anger for being dragged into a life he didn't want. 

_ Stay away from the Palace and do not ever touch anything that belongs to the King. _

What would his mother think of him if she could see him now? Even if he hadn’t been able to avoid being found, Victor had been sure that he was never going to want anything the King possessed. And then he’d met those mesmerising, beautiful brown eyes full of golden sparkles and nothing had ever been the same.

Victor released a sigh, and it was the first sound made by him for hours.

“It’s finished, Your Highness.”

The servant’s voice suddenly brought Victor back to reality, and he realised the snipping had stopped. The Prince raised slowly from the chair, his muscles stiff for the long time spent in the same position. He didn’t even glance at the number of strands that lay on the floor, going straight for the mirror on the wall instead.

Victor looked at his reflection for long minutes, pondering.  
His hair was short on the back, sloping to his nape; it barely caressed his ear on the right side, but it was longer on the left side, soft locks falling over his eye.   
It made him look older, more a man and less a boy.

“Thank you, Guang-Hong. It’s perfect.”

Something had shifted inside Victor, something he hadn’t realised had changed until the King had taken Yuuri away from him. Victor wanted to show that change to the outside world as well.

The apprentice bowed slightly and made quick work of cleaning the floor, gathering his gear and preparing to leave. On the threshold, he stopped and turned to Victor, bending down again.

“Good night, my King,” the young man whispered, meeting Victor’s widening eyes for just a moment with a small smile on his lips, before leaving the rooms.

_________________  


The next day, he trained with two commanders of the soldiers in the front yard. Both Yuri Plisetsky and Seung-Gil Lee were experts in sword fighting and among the Palace's most trusted soldiers, devoted to the royal family from their very first day. Although they were relatively young, they had climbed the hierarchy very fast thanks to their bravery and intransigence. Both were extremely sparing of compliments towards their subordinates, from whom they always demanded the best. They had no tolerance for the lazy or the sloppy, and it wasn’t unusual to hear their sharp words during training.

Faithful to their role and fame, neither had ever shown the slightest deference or given less than the best when their opponent was the Prince.

Victor had already faced Seung-Gil that morning. The stern commander had been sparing with words as always, limiting himself to an initial salute, a correction of the arm position during a parade and a nod when training was over. The young man's elongated black eyes had lingered more than usual on the figure of the Prince, while Victor had drunk water, panting, moving the silver locks from his left eye. But no word had followed, and the commander soon had left to train his group of soldiers.

Now Victor had Yuri Plisetsky in front of him. 

Severity and stubbornness were the only traits that the two commanders shared.   
Whereas Seung-Gil had black hair like a raven's wing that brushed the sides of his neck and eyes like two pieces of coal, Yuri had shoulder-length blonde hair which he kept gathered in a pigtail and green and cold eyes.  
Where Seung-Gil spoke so little that he was often offensive, Yuri talked too much, with the same result.  
Where Seung-Gil decided the fate of his soldiers with a dry but never raised voice, it was rare to hear Yuri not scream.

“Oi, Victor. You won't be tired after just a couple of exchanges with Seung-Gil, will you?” The blond commander barked, scowling.

Victor smirked. Of course, Yuri considered one hour and a half of intense training as if they were a mere warm-up since it hadn’t been time spent fighting him.

“No, Yura, I’m not tired. If you’re looking for an excuse to chicken out, you can find something better,” the Prince answered with a twinkle in his eyes.

As expected, the commander's face turned purple with anger, and the young man began to attack Victor with fury, sparing no harsh words and offensive comments.

Training with Yuri Plisetsky was a double exercise for Victor. The commander was an excellent fighter, and his harsh words often concealed precise suggestions and valuable advice. On the other hand, his offensive gab helped the Prince to strengthen his patience, to polish the edges of his own character, to perfect his pleasant and polite mask even in the most challenging situations.

After another hour of intense training, with Yuri continuously pressing and sinking into every gap in Victor's defence he found, they called the day. The commander spent the next ten minutes explaining to Victor in detail how many things the Prince still had to perfect in his defence to make it barely passable. He was probably going to launch himself into another scolding when Seung-Gil approached them after dismissing the soldiers and sending them to their quarters. He put a hand on Yuri’s shoulder and talked in a low voice.

“That’s enough, Yura. I’m sure Victor has learnt more than enough for today. Besides, he’s improving, and you can’t deny it.”

“It’s still not enough, Seung-Gil,” Yuri said between his teeth, moving his gaze from the Prince to his fellow commander. “He needs to be better. He won’t stand a chance otherwise.”

Victor’s eyes snapped on Yuri, and the Prince frowned. “Stand a chance with what?”

For the first time since Victor had started training with Yuri, the commander blushed and looked away, muttering something incomprehensible. Seung-Gil was looking at the other young man with an air of reproach that he usually reserved only for his subordinates.  
Victor moved his gaze from one to the other, frown deepening. After a couple of minutes of tense silence, Seung-Gil looked again at Victor.

"Please ignore his words for now. In any case, we would like you to train more with us in the coming weeks," he said, keeping his voice low.

“What for?” Victor pressed, lowering his voice instinctively but determined to get some kind of explanation.

Yuri and Seung-Gil looked at each other again, and it seemed like an entire conversation took place in that one look. Victor was going to ask again, but Seung-Gil shook his head slowly, and both the commanders moved to leave, signalling him to follow. 

None of them spoke until they were within walking distance of the military quarters, where their streets parted. They stopped then, and the two young men turned their backs to the Palace, bowing to Victor in greeting.

"You are our most important weapon," Yuri murmured sternly, before closing his lips in a hard line, gaze on the ground.

“See you tomorrow, my King,” Seung-Gil whispered, so low that Victor thought he might have imagined it. But then the two commanders straightened up, and their gazes seemed to pierce the Prince, daring him to disappoint them. 

Victor stood in the courtyard staring wide-eyed at the backs of the two commanders as they walked away.

_________________  


It happened more and more often after that.

Once it was a maid, after coming in to retrieve the tray when he had breakfast in his apartments. The next time it was the footman he asked to build a fire in his sitting room. Then the man in charge of the stables, when Victor went to take care of his horse. 

Days passed, and Victor began to keep in mind the names of those who addressed him with those words, always whispering and only when the situation presented no risk of being heard.

The night before Victor was going to meet with Phichit, Isabella knocked at his door, carrying a dinner he hadn’t requested. Victor knew better than asking for explanations. He looked at Isabella while she arranged the dinner carefully on the table in the sitting room.  
The maid raised her gaze while finishing preparing the plates and spoke. “As you requested, Your Highness, tonight's dinner recalls Vastal’s flavours.” While saying the last words, she raised the lid that covered a steaming soup. Barely visible under the bowl, Victor could see a sealed envelope. “The cook has tried to recreate the recipes that you have said you liked during your stay.”

Victor nodded. The message was clear: the envelope was to be given to Lord Chulanont.

“Thank you, Isabella. Please extend my thanks to the cook,” he said, keeping his voice steady and detached. It was well known you never knew who could be listening or watching in the Palace, and discretion was vital.

Something sparkled in Isabella’s eyes, and that drew Victor's attention immediately.

“Be sure to try the tea at the end of your dinner, Your Highness. It’s a new blend, highly recommended.”

The maid bowed deeply, much more than it was needed, and left the room.

Victor went to the table and started eating. He took his time, confident that if anybody had been watching him, they have probably given up by now. Still, the Prince made sure to move as discreetly as possible while slipping the sealed envelope into the pocket of his tunic. Then, Victor focused on the cup of tea, frowning slightly. It was unusual for something like this to be prepared for him. He wasn't the tea type, not like-

Victor's eyes widened with a flash of understanding. With trembling hands, he lifted the cup from the saucer: a sheet of paper had been carefully folded, creating the shape of a small star.

Victor brought a hand to cover his mouth; his eyes snapped shut. The memory of a kiss under a starry sky came back strongly to his mind, and it almost overwhelmed him completely. After taking a shaky breath, the Prince opened his eyes and took oh so gently the star between his fingers. He turned it over to admire it, and his breath caught in his throat, his vision blurred.

Deprived of any object he could use to communicate, Yuuri must have figured out a way to write using the juice of some fruit and something sharp instead of ink and pen. In uncertain, smudged letters, a word adorned the centre of the star.

_ Yours _ .

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem by Morgan Harper Nicholas.


	11. Winds of Spring II

The route between Leglein and Vastal went mostly through forests so dense that only the main road was considered safe. No one had ever fully explored that deadly tangle of trees and greenery, not in his heart at least.

No one but Phichit Chulanont.

The Lord of Vastal had discovered from an early age his particular propensity for adventure. Never lacking in courage, he had made the art of potions and herbology his own, thanks to some mystics he had met during his raids in the deepest parts of the forests, those in which no one dared to set foot. They often lived as hermits, more rarely in small family groups, in the deepest parts of the forest and invisible to all. They weren't interested in politics or how society had evolved; they lived according to the ancient laws of nature, drawing the bare essentials from what surrounded them and practising arts forgotten by most.

Phichit had had to work hard to get them to take him as an apprentice and teach him what they knew. He had been patient for years, visiting their homes at regular intervals, stoically resisting their dismissal. Their arts were only for their tribes, they’d said, not for spoiled little lords.

However, Phichit had not given up, carrying out whatever task they chose to entrust him with, no matter how degrading and however obviously aimed at irritating him it was.

Eventually, he had managed to earn their respect.

The Duke, his father, had always been open-minded and had had no objection to his son's explorations. On the other hand, Phichit had always been honest and had immediately told his father what he had discovered and what he wanted to achieve. The Duke had explained to him the importance of maintaining absolute secrecy about those people, as all they wanted was not to be found and exploited. Thus, Phichit had created a frivolous and thoughtless image for himself, making everyone believe that he was a young man with no ambition or interest in politics or any other aspect of holding power, and only cared about his own pleasure, indulging in mindless strolls that sometimes kept him away for more than one day.

The truth, of course, was very different.  
Phichit could be a reliable ally or a very dangerous opponent, always underestimated and therefore incredibly powerful.

It was in the house of one of his mentors, in the deepest heart of the most intricate forest, that a select group of people gathered for a secret meeting. The mystic had left for a pilgrimage and had granted Phichit permission to use his habitation, on oath that none of those present would ever reveal where it was.

“Your word, gentlemen, bound you,” the young lord said, standing at the head of the large table that represented one of the few furnishing elements of the house, together with a bed and several shelves full of herbs and clay jars. He held his hands clasped behind his back, and the steel in his black eyes belied his jovial expression. “Remember that I know where you all live, and I have extensive knowledge of herbs, plants and potions.”

Phichit let his threat hover over the table until the guests nodded one after another, some fidgeting nervously on the log that served as their chair. 

Victor turned his head to observe the participants one by one: besides the Lord of Vastal and himself, there was the commander of the army of Asmein in place of the Prince, and the man closest to the Count of Agrye. There were also three Commanders of as many smaller kingdoms, but Victor knew that they were to report to their peers in other places too far away to come and go in one day.  
Everyone's attention, however much they tried to disguise it, was focused on the Prince of Leglein; he was a sort of dark horse for them, and they still didn’t know if they could trust him to do what was necessary.

“I know what you are thinking,” Phichit went on after a minute of silence, eyes scanning around the table and meeting each gaze pointed at him, finally stopping on Victor’s. “Can we trust the Prince?” 

Victor looked back without hesitation. He could feel all the attention shifting on him, but he never diverted his eyes from Phichit’s. The lord smirked.

“Oh, I have doubted him initially. I could not possibly understand what Master Katsuki saw in him. But-” There was a pause, as the young Lord was collecting his thoughts, or maybe remembering something completely different. His gaze fell on the surface of the table for a moment, where the letter from Yuuri that Victor had given him laid, and Victor was sure he saw a very intense emotion crossing Phichit’s look in the blink of an eye. When the Lord looked up to continue, it was gone, as it had never existed.

“But I think Master Katsuki understood the Prince much better than we did. He went beyond appearances; he didn't stop at the surface. Master Katsuki has a rare gift: it is as if he can skim through the layers surrounding someone by merely observing, and it doesn't matter how much you think an inexpugnable shell protects you. He will always be able to recognise what kind of person is in front of him and understand his deepest nature. And, if necessary, use this knowledge for the greater good.”

Victor swallowed hard at Phichit’s words. Wasn't that what had happened? Hadn't Yuuri knocked down every single one of Victor’s defences without even trying, by merely existing beside him?  
But even if Yuuri had done all this for a specific purpose, Victor could not find in his mind the desire to be offended or angry. His hand rose to his chest, the tips of his fingers caressing at the height of his heart, feeling under his fingertips a very subtle swell created by the paper star hidden in an inner pocket.

Phichit was still talking when Victor stood up, planting his palms on the wooden surface of the table and leaning forward. The Lord interrupted his speech and raised an eyebrow. “Your Highness?”

“I don’t care what you all think about me. I don’t care if you believe that I'm not up to the task, that I won’t succeed.” Victor’s voice was low but steady, his sea-blue eyes so intense that some had to divert their gaze. Not Phichit though. “The only thing that matters to me is that Yuuri believes in me. If he wants me to be his puppet, so be it. That man is as sharp as a blade, and I won't be the one to question his decisions. Now, we can waste more time trying to figure out if I can be a reliable person, or we can go on with why we have gathered in this godforsaken place and do something useful before the sun sets.”

Phichit met Victor’s eye and smirked in approval. No one at the table seemed willing to discuss the truth behind the Prince's words, so the Lord clapped his hands together a single time and smiled brightly. 

“Now that this is settled allow me to guide you through the plan.”

_________________  
  


The weather was once again turning to the worse by the time the participants took their leave, one at a time and in different directions. Victor, being the closest to the meeting place along with Phichit, was the last one to part with the Lord.

Huge black clouds loaded with threats streaked across the sky driven by a growing and biting wind. Victor pulled his cloak further closed and lifted his face to the sky, sniffing the air, one hand raised to his forehead to block the tufts of his bangs from whipping the skin of his face.

"We will be lucky if we can get home dry," said the Prince. "I should probably try my best to manage it. I suspect a completely soggy return of mine would raise quite a few questions about where I might have been."

“You have an interesting breadth of thought, Your Highness,” Phichit stated, closing his cloak on his shoulders.

Victor looked down briefly at the shorter man, the corners of his lips twisted in a hint of a sardonic smile. "It seems to me that you forgot where I come from, my Lord. I was indeed raised in comfort as long as my mother was alive, but it's also true that the education she gave me was not meant to make me a limp kid. And above all, the following years have shaped me into something very different from a dull man who doesn't see beyond the obvious. Creativity is essential if you live on the street.”

Phichit smiled sideways and shook his head. “I rarely forget something, Your Highness. Your background is very much what made you our best shot in the first place.” There was a pause, while the two men made their way through a particularly hazardous tangle of brambles, trying to prevent their cloaks from being torn from the thorns. When they reached a safer path again, the young Lord went on. “We have been plotting our rebellion for a very long time, and you are the hero of the story.”

“Because Yuuri said so?” Victor inquired, without malice.

“Because Yuuri is the mastermind and knows better than anyone else what is needed for the plan to work, Your Highness.” It was the first time Victor heard Phichit call Yuuri by name. It gave away how close the two probably were, despite what transpired during public appearances. Victor kept that information in mind and didn’t say a word. 

“The plan you heard about today, it’s all Yuuri’s doing,” Phichit moved a branch from in front of his face and continued to speak. “These years that he spent under the constant threat of the King could have crushed him. Instead, he had decided to turn his anxiety and fear into a force with the sole purpose of finding a way to improve everyone's life. He had found himself in the unenviable position of being able to know everything it takes to pull the King down because of the closeness that man forced him into. Even now, even if there had been a substantial change in his role and his ability to help, he is leading us and giving us directions." 

There was a hard edge in Phichit’s voice, which Victor felt he shared. His mother had always pressed on the need for Victor to stay away from his father, and despite everything, the Palace had managed to find him. The Prince could hardly imagine what it might be like not having even had a chance to hide in the first place, not having seen it coming until it was too late.

Nevertheless, Yuuri had shown a strength of mind and courage that had made Victor feel a deep shame more than once, remembering how temperamental he had been after they forced him to live at the Palace.

“I’d never want to get on Yuuri’s bad side,” Victor said, with a small smile, and Phichit chuckled.

They had almost reached the point where they would part ways when Victor remembered something and turned towards Phichit.

“Why is that that more and more people in the Palace are calling me their King when they know it’s safe to do so?”

Phichit’s lips broke into a knowing smile, and his eyes burned with excitement. “Those, Your Highness, are your allies. Those are the people you know you can count on, the ones loyal to Yuuri because of his kindness and his caring soul. They don’t know the details, but they will be ready when the time comes, and they will be by your side.”

Victor felt a surge of pride, remembering all the people who had addressed him with those words. How they were often not in the high-level ranks, quite the opposite, and despite this, Yuuri had still cared enough to make them side with him in a dangerous situation such as a rebellion.

The two men faced each other eventually, and Victor bowed to Phichit. “I trust you to keep him safe, my Lord,” the Prince said gravely.

Phichit smiled and nodded, bowing deeply. “We shall see each other again, my King,” he said, before turning his back and disappearing in the forest.

_________________  
  
  


One month after the delegations had left Leglein, a message from Asmein arrived at the Palace to the attention of the Chancellor. After reading it, the recipient of the message tapped a finger on his lips for a few minutes, trying to decide the best course of action. Finally, he got up from his desk and walked out of his study.

A little later, the man knocked on the library door and waited until he heard the King's angry voice demanding to know who was bothering him. The Chancellor declared his identity, and the King gave his reluctant permission to enter. Once inside, the official bowed impassively to the monarch.

"Your Grace, the Prince of Asmein requests an audience to discuss some important matters in person."

"He was here a month ago. What else does he need?" King Dmitry answered irritated. His fingers were tapping on the top of a book which was laying on the table in front of him, a bookmark between its pages. Dust was covering the book, and it was evident nobody had touched it in a while.

"There seems to be some discontent with Agrye, Your Grace. Something the Prince was not aware of during the gathering has surfaced. He would like to discuss it in person. He claims the matter is too sensitive to entrust letters or messengers."

"When does he want to come?" The King asked, his face darkening.

"In four weeks, Your Grace, in early spring," the Chancellor answered unfazed.

The King kept drumming his fingers on the cover of the book; his blue eyes were fixed on it. His jaw twitched in an involuntary spasm.

“Fine, whatever, tell him he can come,” King Dmitry said in a dry voice, a hand waving in dismissal. “Any news from the prison?” He asked immediately after, seemingly much more interested.

“Nothing has changed, Your Grace.”

The King's hand dropped violently on the book, raising a cloud of dust; the sound reverberated in the library, accompanying obscene offences aimed at the absent prisoner. 

“Cut back on his food further,” he barked, eventually.

“Your Grace, the young Master is already frail,” the Chancellor objected, arching an eyebrow.

“Evidently not enough yet. Obey!”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

_________________  
  


Two weeks after the message from Asmein, a convoy of provisions destined for the Palace and coming from Agrye arrived in the capital with half the load and a few slightly injured guards.

The head of the expedition, questioned by the commander of the army Yuri Plisetsky, recalled how they had been ambushed about halfway along the route. The attackers had killed several of their guards and stole over half of the cargo. Being far from inhabited centres when the event had occurred, the members of the caravan had buried the bodies of their fallen and then had continued their journey to report what happened to the King. Commander Plisetsky assured them that he would report to the Chancellor immediately.

"Do you suspect who it might have been?" the young man asked, green eyes hard.

"I can't be sure, Commander, but tensions with Asmein have increased recently," the man replied cautiously.

A moment of silence followed, in which the two men weighed each other. There was a slight twitch on the side of the expedition leader's right eye, similar to a tic. Yuri Plisetsky nodded and turned to walk to the Chancellor’s study, biting hard on his lower lip between his teeth in a show of concern that actually served to hide a grin.

_________________  
  


One week after the convoy from Agrye had arrived, a message from Count Farlan landed on the Chancellor desk. 

The nobleman expressed his anger at what had happened to his expedition and said he was determined to settle the matter with the King. He, therefore, declared his intention to travel to the capital the following week to meet King Dmitry.

The Chancellor tried to explain to the King the potential problem of having the Prince of Asmein and the Count of Agrye in the Palace at the same time, given the tensions between their two kingdoms. But the King's mood had further worsened in those weeks. The monarch refused to take any position, arguing that it was nothing that he was interested in and that as far as he was concerned, the two nobles could kill each other in the courtyard of the palace and thus solve their problems.

_________________  
  
  
Two days before the arrival of the nobles from the two major kingdoms, Leglein started the celebration for the arrival of Spring with the traditional festival that involved the entire city, which would last three days. 

Wreaths of flowers and plant compositions decorated every corner of the capital and the main square hosted a vast market that spread in all the nearby streets. Merchants from every known location had come to attend, both as vendors and visitors. The inns were almost full, and visitors used empty stables and warehouses as cheaper accommodations.  
The flow of people from the minor kingdoms seemed more significant than usual this year, and the owners of the taverns and shops were already rubbing their hands, looking forward to earnings. 

_________________  
  


The next day, on the eve of the Prince and the Count’s arrival, Isabella brought a note to Victor along with his lunch.

 _Silence does surround you  
_ _Just listen to the wind  
_ _Feel the changed direction  
_ _Of what will soon begin_

Victor read the message with composed calm. Soon after, he got up from the table and walked over to a lighted candle. After carefully exposing a corner of the letter to the flame until it caught fire, the Prince dropped the paper into the extinguished fireplace and watched it disintegrate into blackened ash.

Phichit had reached his position.

_________________  
  


On the last day of the festival, when the sun was setting on a Palace in full chaos due to the arrival of the Count of Agrye that afternoon and the Prince of Asmein a couple of hours earlier, Isabella handed Yuuri another page of a book, folded in two.

 _A little ray of sunshine  
_ _Shimmering and bright  
_ _Will I see you tomorrow?  
_ _After the dark of night_

 _Hardest is the waiting  
_ _Wondering if the sun will rise  
_ _Will the gods please rewards us  
_ _And let us take home our prize_

 _Knowing life is precious  
_ _When time seems not out friend  
_ _Presents us all with challenge  
_ _Not knowing how the story ends_

 _A moment is a lifetime  
_ For one day or many year  
 _So share love in this moment  
_ And set aside your fears

At the bottom of the page, in neat handwriting that Yuuri knew very well, a few more words:

_Tomorrow, when all will be said and done, find me in the throne room, my star._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poems from sacredpoems.com


	12. Dawn I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins.

_(“Now that this is settled, allow me to guide you through the plan.”_

_Phichit opened a map of the Palace, drawn accurately. He put it in the centre of the table, and everyone leaned forward to follow his finger, pointing at the external gate. “There are many things we have to take care of before starting the actual attack. First of all, we have to be sure that all the accesses to the Palace are under our control.”)_

***

Dawn was just a milky, whitish light.

A heavy blanket of grey clouds covered the sky like a homogeneous mantle, and a light fog hovered over the streets and squares of the capital. The air was still, as if a giant creature was holding its breath, waiting for something.

One of the two guards stationed at the main doors of the Palace yawned without restraint, a sound that echoed almost too loud in that strange atmosphere of early morning. The second guard shot an indignant look at his colleague.

"What?" The first asked in a plaintive tone, rubbing his neck with the hand that wasn't holding the spear. "The shift is over now, isn't it? It should be a matter of moments."

As if summoned, two figures advanced through the fog from the soldiers' quarters.

"Here they come," said the first guard relieved. The two silhouettes advanced through the fog until they were recognisable, and the guards greeted their colleagues who had come to relieve them, preparing to take off the shift, lowering their spears.

It took only a moment. 

One after the other, the two men fell unconscious to the ground, stunned by precise blows coming from behind them. Two figures in Asmein's uniform looked at their victims with indifference, then raised their gaze to meet the two newcomers' eyes. The latter raised their right wrist to show a black ribbon tied around it.

"The gate?" Asked one of the foreigners.

“The guards on duty were already with us,” answered one of the Leglein’s soldiers.

The first man nodded. “Let’s get to work then.”

_________________  
  


_(“Then, we have to be sure the servants and the soldiers of the Palace loyal to the King are not in a position to harm us.”)_

_***_

The cook finished stirring the porridge for breakfast and turned to two of her assistants.

"I'm not feeling well today, and I don't seem to feel the flavours properly. Taste it and tell me if it's good enough for our soldiers," she said, turning to cough in her sleeve.

The man and woman nodded, momentarily leaving aside the vegetables and bread they were cutting. Grabbing a spoon each, they leaned over the pot and dipped in, bringing a full spoonful of porridge to their mouths. The cook smiled indulgently: it was not the first time she had let a slightly too generous tasting unpunished.   
The two aides nodded enthusiastically, and they went back to work with a big smile.

The cook thanked them and turned to the six servants waiting in an orderly row beyond the counter, starting to fill bowls and entrusting two to each of the servants. In grasping them, a black sash peeked out under the right sleeve of the uniform of all of them, as it retreated onto the wrist in the movement. When everyone had their first bowls in hand, the cook stared at them one at a time, like every morning when she gave her orders.

"Make sure everyone is satisfied with the meal."

The servants nodded and left the kitchen in a row, while the cook began to fill more bowls, after arranging the black band on her right wrist better so that it did not get dirty. 

The second group of soldiers would come in soon, and the Palace employees would eat immediately after the soldiers were done. 

The cook checked another pot of porridge boiling on the fire, turning her back to her assistants to taste it.

***

Yuri Plisetsky sat on the outside step of the soldiers' quarter, polishing his sword with a cloth. The cheerful chatter of the men returning from the first round of breakfast made him look up sharply, and the soldiers lowered their voices, muttering apologies to their commander. When the last one was close enough, Yuri stood up and sheathed his sword, putting the cloth in the saddlebag at his waist.

"Oi, second group! Go get some breakfast and hurry up," the young man barked. Another large group of soldiers who had been waiting in the nearby courtyard snapped to attention and headed for the dining room.

The last man of the first group blinked for a moment and turned to Yuri with a curious expression.

"Commander, why did the second group have a black band on their wrist like you?" The young soldier asked respectfully.

"A special training for today, we have divided you into two groups," Plisetsky replied dryly. "That's my group. You will be with Seung-Gil when he gets back from his patrol."

The soldier nodded, a flash of excitement and, perhaps, relief in his eyes, and crossed the threshold to join his companions.

Yuri smirked leaning against the door jamb and waited.

_________________

_(“One of the riskiest parts will be to get the key for the gate that connects the courtyard with the prison. That specific task has been already requested.”)_

***

The Chancellor sat at his desk, already dressed for the day. He was a morning person, and he always woke up early, at the first lights of day. Soon he would go and ask for his breakfast, but first, he had to resolve yet another headache caused by the presence of the Prince of Asmein and the Count of Agrye in the Palace. 

The man was still analysing the day's schedule to figure out how to prevent the two from meeting when someone knocked on his office door.

"Come in," the man said simply, without looking up. He was all too used to the constant flow of people who had something to ask or communicate.

The door opened and closed shortly after, and the sound of boots on the floor was interrupted with a sharp clatter of heels when the walking stopped. The Chancellor took note of the visitor's identity from that simple gesture and continued reading.

"Commander Seung-Gil, to what do I owe the honour so early in the morning?" The man said with a condescending tone.

"Chancellor, I have reason to believe that we could suffer an attack today. I ask permission to have in custody the key to the gate connecting the prison and the Palace."

The Chancellor looked up in surprise, and instinctively touched the ring of keys fastened to his belt, wrapping his hand around the larger, silver-coloured one, before he opened the mouth to answer.

"Commander, what makes you believe that-"

His words were interrupted by a new series of chimes at the door. Without even waiting for an answer, the door opened, and Isabella stepped into the room, bowing briefly.

"Forgive the inconvenience, Chancellor, but we have an emergency. Several members of the servants and the army are feeling ill and are unable to perform their duties," the girl said in a calm voice.

The Chancellor rose from his chair with such vehemence that it fell backwards, the noise just muffled by the carpet.

"What do you mean?" The man said nervously, walking around the desk and heading towards Isabella. "What-"

There was a sharp thud and then the Chancellor was sprawled on the ground, prone, his gaze suffering and unfocused.

Both Seung-Gil and Isabella watched him from above, unfazed. The Commander lowered the dagger he held in his hand and with whose hilt he had stunned the Chancellor; then he crouched and unhooked the ring full of keys from the belt of the man on the ground. The Chancellor tried to say something, but the blow had stunned him enough to make talking a nearly impossible mission. The man just watched helplessly at the Commander's hand and its movements, a black band adorning the wrist.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," Seung-Gil said, a rare smile on his lips, so thin it was unpleasant.

Isabella moved, grabbing a rope which Seung-Gil handed her with his free hand; then she proceeded to tie quickly but carefully the Chancellor's wrists and ankles. The man tried to oppose, but his body didn't seem to want to respond to the requests of his brain.

"This is for all the times you've treated us like garbage," Seung-Gil finally said, before lowering the hilt of the dagger viciously over the man's head, knocking him unconscious.

***

Yuri Plisetsky watched Seung-Gil Lee leave the Palace and move towards the military quarters. The blond Commander had not yet moved from his position, leaned against the door jamb. When Seung-Gil was a few steps away, Yuri raised an eyebrow. The other Commander showed him the ring of keys dangling from his index finger.

"I hit him for you too,"

"I hope so."

"How did it go here?"

Yuri just turned his head towards the inside of the building where the soldiers had their rooms, from which came several moans and some clear noises of crying.

Seung-Gil shrugged. "The others?"

"In support of Asmein's and Agrye's men, except those who are to come with us."

Seung-Gil Lee nodded. "Shall we?"

Yuri Plisetsky moved to close the door of the building, locking it with a key, before turning his back and walking with his fellow Commander towards the gate connecting the prison and the Palace.

_________________

_(Phichit looked at the various pebbles placed on the map, each added after the explanation of every preliminary step. The young Lord's black eyes lifted to look at the other men, each focused on what was displayed in front of them._

_"And then? Once we control the Palace?" Victor asked thoughtfully. “How can we get the King's Guards away from him? They are very loyal to him, and they would never leave his side, especially if rumours of problems in the Palace make their way to them. They are excellent fighters, enough to keep up with all the men we have. And the King values his life above all."_

_"Unless the King himself sends them elsewhere," Phichit replied without hesitation._

_The Prince raised an eyebrow. "What could be so important as to persuade the King to deprive himself of his most effective circle of protection?"_

_Phichit made a disgruntled face. "This is the part that I like least, and that's why I'll take care of it myself."_

_Victor felt a cold shiver run down his spine, like a premonition. Phichit nodded grimly._

_"There is only one thing which, if endangered, could persuade the King to deprive himself of all his defence.")_

***

When Yuri Plisetsky and Seung-Gil Lee reached the prison through the tunnel, the fight was already in full swing.

The need to take control of the Palace meant that Asmein's and Agrye's armed forces were stationed there. Since the two nobles were guests, the armed guards they had been able to bring with them certainly did not amount to an army. Combined, though, and in addition to a good number of Leglein's soldiers, they had an excellent chance of success, mainly thanks to the fact that those loyal to the King were largely knocked out by Lord Chulanont's potion added to the breakfast porridge.

This meant, though, that those assigned to fight at the prison were small in number.  
The two Commanders had personally chosen the members of that specific group from among the best soldiers they had, adding themselves. Their task was second only to Victor's in terms of importance, and the risks were considerable.

By the time Seung-Gil and Yuri reached the second floor, they had already passed several corpses of guards. Orders had been not to kill those unable to fight or who had surrendered but to have no mercy on anyone who opposed them.

Leo was the first to see the two commanders. Blood caked the guard's brown hair, but the young man didn't look hurt. His brown eyes noted his superiors, and he snapped to attention.

"Dismissed, De La Iglesia," said Seung-Gil, looking up the landing in front of them, where three guards were tied and kneeling in silence. "Report."

“Those here have given up, Commander,” Leo said immediately, nodding towards the prisoners. “They don't seem to be loyal to the King; they are just men doing their job. Those who opposed us, you saw them coming up. Three are upstairs; I believe they intended to take Master Katsuki away, preventing us from reaching him. Otabek, Chris and Emil are taking care of them.”

Seung-Gil nodded and walked behind Yuri, who had already begun the climb to the third floor. At the top of the stairs, they found Phichit Chulanont at the entrance of the corridor holding some clothes against his chest, his penetrating gaze directed towards the narrow passage. Everything in his body language denoted calm and control.   
The young Lord glanced sideways towards them and nodded in greeting.

“Are they still breathing?” Plisetsky asked abruptly, turning the corner to take in the situation.

“I would be surprised if they were, Commander. Your men were ruthless,” Phichit answered, arching an eyebrow.

“Like we wasted our fucking time training them,” the young Commander snapped back, causing a chuckle from Phichit. 

Yuri walked into the corridor, Seung-Gil and the young Lord following. Three men were standing in front of the last door, with three corpses lying at their feet. The men snapped to attention and Yuri waved his hand mid-air dismissively. “Altin, open the door.”

Otabek obeyed, and the next moment, the door opened on the cell. 

The man inside was standing by the window, facing the door, his hands clasped behind his back. His body was thinner, wrapped in the same clothes he had been imprisoned in, now dirty and stained. His hair was longer but clean, strands gently brushing his neck and his cheeks. His face was more hollow than two months prior, and heavy black shadows under his eyes denoted nights without much rest; the fire in his gaze, however, burned unchanged. 

“Welcome back, Master Katsuki,” Seung-Gil said, stepping on a side to give Phichit enough space to enter the room. “I'm afraid there isn't much time for pleasantries.”

“I know,” Yuuri said, smiling softly towards the men gathered in the cell. Phichit’s smile was radiant when he gave him his usual clothes: black trousers, white shirt, black shoes and short cape with the royal symbol.

“My Lord, I would be grateful if you could help me change my clothes,” Yuuri asked Phichit, and his weakness did not escape anyone.

“You have to eat, Master Katsuki,” Phichit fussed, but Yuuri cut him off gently. 

“I still have food and drink from what Isabella, Otabek and Leo managed to get me; it is under the bed. I will eat while we put in place the rest of the plan,” Yuuri said stubbornly, and Phichit relented temporarily.

“Right, you have five minutes to change your clothes,” Yuri Plisetsky said dryly, turning to the other men straight after. “Giacometti, Nekola, go gather as many beddings as you can find and place them in various part of the building, but not on this floor. Altin, find De La Iglesia and take the prisoners somewhere safe. We’ll take care of them later. Then come back immediately.”

The soldiers nodded promptly and sprang into action.

“Seung-Gil, let’s go,” the blond commander said then, eyeing his stern colleague, a smirk on his lips. “Let’s see if the rest of the group is in position. We have an ambush to organise.”

*** 

“FIRE!”

The cry of alarm rang out from the corridor outside, even before the doors of the throne room opened to reveal the breathless figure of a terrified-eyed soldier.

King Dmitry, seated on the throne, looked up irritated at the newcomer. In the vast room, there were about twenty of his guards, golden cloaks on their shoulders and shining armours protecting their bodies. Their attention had immediately snapped to the door when it opened, and more than one held the hilt of their sword, waiting.

"What now?" King Dmitry asked, his voice bored but permeated with a note of anger.

"Fire, Your Grace. The prison is on fire!" The soldier swallowed as if trying to relieve the parched voice. "The fire is raging rapidly, moving up to the third floor."

The King rose abruptly, his blue eyes blazing with anger.

"Have you found the Chancellor?" The monarch angrily asked the commander of his guards.

"No, my King. He is presumably somewhere in the Palace trying to regain control. The Prince of Asmein and the Count of Agrye are leading their troops, but several of our soldiers are fighting alongside them, and we are unable to distinguish them from those loyal to you. "

"Damned traitors, I'll have their heads on a pike!" The King snapped, clenching his fists at his hips.

For a moment, the messenger's laboured breathing was the only sound audible in the throne room. Finally, King Dmitry seemed to come to a decision.

"Send all the King's Guards to the prison to put the fire out," he commanded.

"My King," the commander of the guards replied in alarm. "If we send the men to the prison, who shall protect you? A single building is not of importance at this time. I beg you to reconsider-"

The commander of the King's men paused when the tip of the King's sword pointed at his throat. The man swallowed hard; his gaze swept along the shining blade to meet an equally steely look in the monarch's eyes.

"What is not understandable about my orders, Commander?"

The man bowed his head and eyes with deference, and the sword withdrew.

"You know best, my King." Then, the commander turned to his men. “Gather every single King’s Guard and head to the prison immediately. Extinguish the fire and bring the prisoner to safety. I will stay with His Grace.”

The guards saluted and immediately left the throne room.

"Soldier," the commander called for the guard who had come to raise the alarm. "Follow them and call any of your comrades you can trust to help."

"I'll do as requested, Commander."

Emil Nekola bowed respectfully and went out, closing the door behind him.

***

“Fetch more water buckets, quick!”

The King's Guards had managed to make their way through several outbreaks, caused by burning beddings that had then taken root in every flammable material. In itself, the fire looked much worse than it actually was, but it was still tricky to extinguish.

There were about thirty King’s Guards left, the others incapacitated by anything that had poisoned most of the Palace staff, or stuck in combat with the rebel nobles.  
The fight with the fire and the thick smoke had worn out the Guards, who were now coughing heavily and panting, trying to reach the third floor.

"The priority is the prisoner's safety. Everything else-," the Guard in command was saying, reaching the third floor's landing before pausing, confused.

There was no sign of fire on this floor.

Turning into the corridor, the Guards took note of the door at the far end, wide open. Two of them ran inside, only to return soon after to report that the cell was deserted and the prisoner had disappeared.

The King’s Guards had barely time to grasp the idea that it might be a trap, before commanders Seung-Gil Lee and Yuri Plisetsky and their men swarmed out from the adjacent cells and downstairs, surrounding them.

_________________  
  


_(“I want to be at the prison,” Victor said stubbornly._

_“It is out of the question, Your Highness. You will have the most important task of all, the one for which all this was arranged. You must be ready as soon as the King is left alone.”_

_All the eyes were on Victor now._

_“And put an end to it.”)_

Yuuri came out of the tunnel in daylight and had to shield his eyes for a moment. He took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh air he had missed for so long and let out a long, satisfied sigh.  
Beside Yuuri, Phichit watched him, making sure he didn't need anything; Otabek looked around carefully, sword drawn.

The courtyard was deserted, except for a soldier who was running towards them through the square. Otabek stood in front of Yuuri and Phichit, in a guard position, but the soldier raised his wrist to show the black band that decorated it. The stoic guard relaxed imperceptibly but did not change his stance.

When the man got close to them, Otabek ordered him to stop and communicate the reason for such a hurry. The soldier obeyed, bent forward with his hands on his knees, taking a moment to catch his breath.

"Message for Commander Plisetsky from the Commander of Asmein's forces. The Palace is under our control; all resistance has been quelled."

Otabek smiled and nodded towards the tunnel.

"The Commander is still inside. Go ahead."

The soldier nodded and bowed briefly to Yuuri, then ran towards the tunnel.

Phichit and Otabek followed the soldier with their eyes. When they turned back again, Yuuri was already walking across the courtyard, his steps elegant, only the curve of his shoulders betraying his weariness.

"Master Katsuki, where are you going?" Otabek inquired sharply, moving to follow him.

Yuuri didn't turn but looked back over his shoulder, a smirk on his face. 

"To see the King."


	13. Dawn II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At the very beginning of this work, I wrote that this entire story had a specific song as a soundtrack, except for chapter 13. This chapter has its own because it needed something even more epic, which is [Audiomachine - Rise Of The Black Curtain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bA631oqahPA). Have a go at reading while listening to the song, if you want.
> 
> WARNING: the Archive Warning comes into play again. 
> 
> (Chris Overton's voice starting)
> 
> And now, the main event.  
> Switch off your phones, finish your conversations, sit back and get ready.  
> It’s about to begin.

As the doors to the throne room opened, both the King and the Commander of his guards looked up, the latter interrupting the account of potential next moves.

Neither said a word as Victor crossed the threshold with calm and measured steps. The Prince wore tight dark trousers tucked into high boots and a dark leather bodice to protect his chest over a short black long-sleeved tunic. His right hand, wrapped in a black leather glove, held the unsheathed sword, pointed towards the ground. His left hand, uncovered, reached up to move the silver bangs from in front of his eye for a moment, his sea-blue, cold and calculating gaze on the two men in front of him.

"You!" The Commander of the King's Guards drew his sword and turned, remaining next to the King still seated on the throne. "Have you sold yourself to the rebel nobles? Is this how you return the King’s kindness when he has welcomed you to the Palace?"

"Please," Victor said flatly. "As if I asked to be dragged here. About kindness..." Victor shrugged and chuckled as if he had heard the funniest tale.

The Prince covered half the distance between the door and the throne before pausing; back straight, proud and self-confident, chin lifted to look at King Dmitry who still hadn't uttered a single word, his sharp gaze focused only on Victor.

“Say,” Victor said after a moment of silence, “do you have any plan to surrender?”

The Commander of the Guards scoffed. “Why should we? I’m more than capable of taking down a scoundrel like you by myself, even if my men weren’t about to come back after their mission."

“About that,” Victor smirked, moving his gaze from his father to the other man. “I wouldn't count on it too much. Strange places, prisons; you never know what can happen once you enter them.”

For the first time, the Commander of the Guards looked uncertain. The man frowned, his tongue poking slightly to wet his lips. Beside him, King Dmitry narrowed his eyes and straightened his back, standing up.

“So should I take that as a no?” Victor resumed, his tone of voice almost sweet.

The commander seemed to recover from his previous insecurity and took an angry step forward, drawing his sword. “Enough with this bullshit-,” the man began to say.

Victor bent over quickly, his left hand pulling a long dagger from the hem of his boot. With confident gestures that denoted long practice and excellent control, the Prince spun the weapon in midair, gripping it again by the side of the blade between the tips of his gloved fingers. His gaze never wavered from the King, not even when his arm bent back for a moment, then snapped forward with a gesture so fast it was almost invisible.

The blade flew through space at insane speed and buried itself in soft flesh with a thud.

The Commander's eyes were wide with surprise. He seemed intent on saying something, but only a trickle of blood came out of his gasping mouth. The hilt of Victor's dagger protruded from his throat, his body now in front of the throne where King Dmitry had dragged it to protect himself.

Over the head of the dying soldier, Victor and his father stared at each other in silence.

"Using your most loyal soldier to shield you. It’s tough to see the bottom of your selfishness,  _ father _ .” Victor tilted his head on the left side, the bangs slipping sideways, showing both eyes again.

"I do not accept lessons of honour from someone who uses a dirty trick like throwing a dagger from a distance to strike," King Dmitry replied, pushing his Commander’s corpse carelessly aside and letting it fall to the ground with a dull thud.

"I don't see why I shouldn't have used a fighting style learnt on the street to take down a being of your level. It’s not like you deserve the honour of a fair duel," Victor replied, straightening his position and moving two steps forward. “You are nothing but a burden for this Kingdom, and it’s time to make things right.”

“And you are the one going to do that?” King Dmitry drew his sword at his side, with a fluid gesture. 

The King wore no armour over his rich garment, but Victor's leather bodice was also not enough protection in a sword fight. Both were extremely aware of how little they needed to decide the fate of the battle. Distractions or missteps were not conceivable.

The sound of the first clash of metal expanded into the deserted hall with a deafening clang, soon followed by two more at a short distance. Victor and the King found themselves at close range, their swords engaged in a test of strength, locked together, neither of them intending to retreat first.

"It's funny,  _ son _ . When the Ministers brought you to the Palace, the first thing you did was swearing that you would never touch anything of mine. Now I find you here looking for nothing less than the throne. What hypocrisy." The King's voice was low and dripping with sarcasm.

Victor broke the stall first, sliding the blade along his father's and, at the same time, spinning his body outward. Shortly before losing contact with the other weapon, the Prince gave a push to knock the King out and prevent a quick counter-offensive. Immediately afterwards, Victor fully indulged the rotation, using one foot as a pivot to impart speed to the next attack, the sword in a descending arc directed towards his father's neck. King Dmitry did not try to force the thrust he received and merely lifted his sword across his chest, wrist snapping in a twist, overturning the sword and presenting the blade in the trajectory of the Prince’s, in defence. The new clash of metal rang like an echo in the throne room.

"I don't expect you to understand. Your ineptitude and your selfishness do not allow you to see anything beyond your nose, even if you had the slightest interest in doing so." Victor's face was a mask of concentration, every nerve in his body tense and ready for a reaction. "I don't want the throne any more than I wanted to be brought here, and that's the difference between you and me."

The King chuckled, thrusting up the Prince's sword and spreading his arm outward, in a precise arc directed to his son's side. Victor jumped back. The air was cut by the hiss of metal missing the target. The King took advantage of the new distance gained to straighten up and assume a guard position.

“You do not want the throne, you say, but you are the only one who can claim it. I do not think you sold yourself to Asmein and Agrye. I think the opposite is true; that they are supporting you. But don't you think, boy, that in truth they do it only because they know how weak and inexperienced you are in politics, a pawn ready to be moved for their advantage?"

Victor knew that the King was only trying to confuse him, to instil doubts in his mind to deconcentrate him and make him make mistakes. The Prince slipped the derisive words off his back and replied with a smirk. He pressed forward, raising the sword in an elegant transverse arc, from the opposite shoulder down, directed towards the King's dominant arm. King Dmitry had to rotate partly on himself to remove the limb from the trajectory of the attack, finding himself unable to use his weapon. Victor's sword cut the fabric and flesh of the King’s other arm which had instinctively raised in protection, causing a deep wound.  
King Dmitry hissed, and he took a few steps back, hatred and suffering mixed in his furious gaze.

"You see, you did not understand the most important thing. I, the Prince of Asmein, the Count of Agrye, we are all pawns on the board. We are not the mastermind behind this plan. Just you see, old man, for when I’ll fall short, I’ll have just the right man to turn to.”

The King narrowed his eyes. Victor could almost physically see his father's brain trying to figure out who was leading the rebellion, and he couldn't resist the temptation to let him know. Yuuri was safe, protected by Phichit and other guards, certainly free by now. No harm in revealing how much the King had underestimated the object of his desire.

"You never understood him. You have always seen only a target of your lust, chaining him behind threats to his father. You have never been able to understand the depth of his intellect, his understanding of the people he meets, the incredible amount of knowledge he possesses and uses only to obtain good. That man will restore order to the Kingdom. I couldn’t be more honoured that he chose me as his pawn.”

There was a flash of recognition in the King's gaze, and the man's lips curled into a lazy, slimy smile.

"Ah, I see. Yuuri Katsuki." The King rolled the letters of the name around his tongue in an almost obscene way. "Really a remarkable creature. Those deep eyes, like undisturbed waters. You can get lost in those eyes, can't you?"

The King dashed forward, the sword in a diagonal sweep from top to bottom, aimed at Victor's torso. The Prince reacted with just a moment's delay, and the sound of ripped leather tore the air of the room. Victor took two steps back, taking in the cut in his bodice. The blade had missed the flesh, but the blow was undoubtedly too close. The Prince pursed his lips. Hearing the King speaking of Yuuri in that disgusting tone had irritated Victor beyond measure, making him lose concentration for a moment. A rookie mistake that could have cost him dearly. It wouldn't happen again, Victor promised himself.

“How does it feel to lay hands on what once was mine?” The King asked cunningly.

“He was never yours, old man. Until proven otherwise, the mark on his neck matches my teeth, not yours,” Victor spatted.

The flash of fury in the King's eyes was the warning that Victor used to parry the subsequent hail of attacks that the King inflicted on him, pure and bestial force at the expense of precision and tactics.

"So it was you!" The King nearly snarled in the fury of the attacks, his sword slamming into Victor's looking for an opening. "I should have had your head that day! Did he seduce you well, my son? Did he murmur words in your ear and promise you his sinful body? Is that how he convinced you?"

The Prince felt anger building up in his chest, exploding in his brain. It was as if a red veil had fallen before Victor's eyes, fueled by a fury he hadn't felt even when his mother died.  
The change of pace was immediate, and the last defence turned into a quick counterattack. The two men faced each other in a storm of blows that rang like a forge.

"How dare you? How dare you talk about him like this?" Victor bellowed, his body muscles burning with exertion, his brain overwhelmed by rage as he kept pushing, pushing, pushing. "I'll kill you even if it's the last thing I do because of what you put us both through!"

Sweat beaded the faces of both men. The blades had found flesh more than once, and blood dripped from the wounds they had suffered and inflicted. The breaths were laboured and the attacks less and less precise, the bodies more and more tired. After a last, vicious attack by Victor that wounded the King in the right side, the two men found themselves staring at each other from a distance, panting heavily.   
The King was bent on one knee close to the front door, his back to it; his sword was pointed to the ground and used for support. Victor had his back to the throne, and was standing up by the sheer force of will; the sword hung at his side, the tip resting on the ground, the hilt made sticky by blood dripping from a superficial wound on his arm.   
The Prince’s attention narrowed on the King, who regarded him from under his lashes, his face bent to the ground as he tried to catch his breath.

Through the sound of panting breaths and grunts of pain, a third noise entered.   
  
It was so light that neither duelist noticed it at first. When the sound of footsteps became clearer, Victor looked up in confusion at the door, and his heart stopped in his chest.

Yuuri had entered the throne room.

To Victor, he seemed almost a vision. The grace in his steps was unchanged; Yuuri moved like a dancer, his hips swaying sinuously, his long, graceful arms swinging at his sides. His everyday clothes wrapped his body, dangling as if they were bigger than before; the hateful short cape was brushing Yuuri’s shoulder blades, the pin with the royal emblem shining in the light of a candle.  It was when the Prince eventually looked up to find Yuuri’s face that he noticed the changes. His ashen skin seemed almost translucent; his hollow cheeks made his cheekbones stand out even more. His black hair was longer, unstyled, and it was caressing Yuuri’s neck and cheeks in soft strands. Dark shadows circled his eyes, perhaps the only thing unchanged about him. Those big, deep brown eyes sprinkled with gold framed by his glasses observed the room calmly in the time of a breath, flying over the figure of the King as if he didn't exist and finally stopping on Victor.

The Prince could only let out a choked breath when those calm pools of placid water broke as if a storm had sprung within them, while Yuuri took in Victor’s figure, his suffering stance, the blood that was staining his clothes and his face, smearing the silver bangs. It was the first time Yuuri saw his short hair, the Prince realised.

Victor wanted to call him. He wanted to ask him why he was there, why he wasn't in a safe place, protected, as Victor had asked. He wanted to scream at him to leave, to get away from there.  
But Victor hadn't seen Yuuri for weeks, months, and the absence had burned inside him, created a void that had consumed him from the inside, a chasm shaped like Yuuri that nothing could fill, or even soothe.  
And Victor was weak; he needed to see him now, to drink Yuuri’s presence through his eyes. Indulge in the certainty that he was alive, that he was safe. 

Yuuri walked a short distance from King Dmitry without paying him a glance. His straight back and his face posed in a mask of calm were betrayed by the rage of emotions that appeared and disappeared in his eyes, immediately replaced by new ones, so fast it was impossible to identify them. Yuuri's gaze was on Victor as if nothing else existed in the world, while his controlled steps brought him closer to the Prince.

All of Victor's attention was on Yuuri. The Prince knew that although he was standing, everything about him had to give the impression of a supplicant in front of a source of clean water. He was aware of his slightly parted lips in an abortive attempt to say Yuuri’s name, his voice stuck somewhere in his throat, unable to get over the lump that made even breathing difficult. Gods, he was so beautiful-

Something moved at the edge of Victor’s field of vision, and all his senses snapped on alert, conditioned by all the years spent on the street.

King Dmitry had risen to his feet, his hair stained with blood and sweat clinging to the hard features of his face turned into a mask of fury and lust.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion for Victor. An electric shock went through his body; his muscles screamed their protest as the Prince tried to lunge forward, eyes wide open and a feral scream tearing at his throat and chest, while his mind kept repeating desperately  _ too far, too slow, too far- _

Before Yuuri could react to the sudden change in Victor, the young man found himself trapped in the grip of the King's arms, the blade of the monarch's sword barely biting the tender flesh of his throat. The King’s sword arm gripped the right side of Yuuri’s body, locking the arm against his side. The monarch’s other arm wrapped around Yuuri’s left shoulder, the hand a cruel grip around the young man’s chin, the fingers sunk painfully into the flesh and bone of his jaw.

“I wouldn't get any closer if I were you,  _ son _ ,” the King hissed maliciously, and Victor froze. A terror such as he had never felt in his life clenched his chest in an excruciating grip, preventing any reasoning. Victor was overwhelmed by indecision, torn between the animal impulse to reach the King and tear him to pieces with his bare hands and the certainty that Yuuri would die before he could get to him. The Prince could not help but watch the King forcing Yuuri's face to turn towards his own, a lewd smile curving the older man's lips.

“How nice to see you here, my little pet. I missed you,” King Dmitry grinned, keeping his voice loud enough to be heard clearly in the empty room, but smooth and seductive, teasing. Yuuri was breathing heavily in his grip, his body trembling. The position forced him to face the King, and Yuuri kept fighting to look anywhere else as a sign of disrespect, failing because of the need to keep the impending threat under control.

"Now, what do you say? Shall we give my rebellious heir a good show?” The King chuckled, glancing sideways at Victor, who was clearly restraining himself, his sea-blue eyes blazing with hatred. The man smiled smugly and lowered his face towards Yuuri's with the intent to kiss him.

Victor felt the blood rush to his brain, but before he could even react, the King screamed in pain and jerked. The blade of his sword scratched Yuuri's throat, enough to make it bleed, red drops that stained the white collar of his shirt. Yuuri's body had rotated in the King's grip just enough to allow his left hand to plant a dagger up to the hilt in the man's belly.

The King released his grip on Yuuri and on the sword, which fell noisily to the ground in a metallic clang. The man looked down in disbelief on the hilt that protruded from his stomach, before raising his eyes again to meet Yuuri's, full of hatred and disgust.

"Never again!" The young man screamed, his right hand rising to his throat to cover the wound, touching it tentatively with his fingertips. "You will never touch me again!”

The King fell to his knees, still stunned. A gush of blood came out of his lips, eyes blinking rapidly yet fixed on Yuuri as if he could not put together the figure in front of him with the dagger planted in his body.

Yuuri was trembling from head to toe like a leaf, his body violently shaken by the onslaught of adrenaline. He could not tear his eyes off the King, not even when he felt Victor approaching tentatively as if the Prince didn't want to scare him.

"Yuuri..."

Victor's voice, worried and uncertain, snapped Yuuri out of his trance. The young man looked up to meet the Prince's eyes, his anxious face. Yuuri didn’t think; he acted only on impulse. His right hand rose to grab the upper edge of Victor's leather bodice, squeezing it until his knuckles whitened. Yuuri turned to the King, eyes glowing, making sure the man was watching them, before yanking down the bodice, and with it, all Victor's upper body until their lips crashed together in an all-consuming kiss.

_________________  


Shortly after, soldiers of Asmein and Agrye reached the throne room, finding the dying King on the floor, and Victor and Yuuri tight in a silent embrace.

At Yuuri's request, the soldiers dragged the King into the courtyard to the small stage which had never been taken apart from the gathering. They tied the man to the same pole he had tied Yuuri to months earlier, and they left him to a slow death. The wounds to the abdomen were fatal, but it also took time for the end to come.

The Prince of Asmein and the Count of Agrye, covered in blood but unharmed, remained impassive throughout the entire ordeal. Soldiers from Agrye, Asmein, and Leglein gathered in the courtyard to watch, along with the Palace servants who had participated in the revolt. Yuri Plisetsky and Seung-Gil Lee were slightly on the sidelines, surrounded by their men. The prison rescue team had come out with a few bruises but no losses, and this had lightened Yuuri's spirit. The Duke of Vastal and Phichit Chulanont stood calmly next to the other two noblemen.

There were no screams of victory in that courtyard, only the heavy blanket of expectant silence.

Yuuri and Victor stood right in front of the stage, a respectful distance left around them. They both watched the figure of the former King glide towards death, breathing more and more laboured. Dmitry Nikiforov hadn't uttered a word since the dagger had pierced his body.

After a while, Victor turned to Yuuri. His hands lifted gently onto his shoulders, forcing the young man to rotate his body and face Victor.  
The Prince's hands caressed Yuuri's thin shoulders delicately, going down to the collarbones. After a short pause, they went up again, slipping under the fabric of the short black cape, dragging it back. Victor’s right thumb snapped the pin that closed the garment; the next moment, the black fabric slipped down from Yuuri's shoulders.   
The young man took a trembling breath with his eyes closed.

Victor moved. Holding the black cape in his fingers, the Prince took the stage and stood in front of his father. With precise and measured gestures, Victor draped the garment over the shoulders of the former King.

"There was a time when I wondered what made you the man you are,” Victor murmured, his voice clear in the deafening silence. “But it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Victor turned his back to his father, standing on the stage. In front of him, all the people in the courtyard were bent on one knee, one arm turned sideways, their heads bowed.  Yuuri was the only one who was looking up at him, his brown eyes full of pride.

Victor took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

"I’ve not the slightest idea of how to rule a Kingdom,” Victor began, his voice steady and clear in the quiet of the courtyard. His eyes opened again and passed over the crowd of bowing people, their faces now raised to him. “I know nothing of such matters. I’ve yet to bear the burden of duty. But I know one thing for sure, and that is, I’m not alone.” There was another pause, as Victor lowered his eyes to meet Yuuri’s briefly, before raising them again. “A prosperous Kingdom is one that can take care of all its inhabitants, and in which everyone can work to improve it. So, I trust the people I’ll choose to rule with me will have the patience to teach me their knowledge so that I can, in turn, make decisions based on the big picture and for the good of all.”

There were many nods and satisfied expressions, and Victor felt a weight lift off his shoulders. The Prince straightened his posture and clasped his hands behind his back, shifting his gaze to the area where the Leglein's soldiers were gathered.

"Commanders Yuri Plisetsky and Seung-Gil Lee. From today you will be Generals of the Leglein's army. Your first task is understanding which of the captive and indisposed soldiers can remain in the ranks of the military, and which should be removed. Be fair and uncompromising as only you know how to be."

The two new Generals rose to their feet and pounded their right fists on their chest at heart level. If they were surprised by the announcement, they didn't show. "Yes, my King," they replied in unison, before calling their soldiers to order.  Before they could leave, Victor talked again. “Generals, I need a word with Leo De la Iglesia and Otabek Altin. They will join you later.”

Otabek and Leo stopped, waiting for orders. The two Generals simply nodded, before walking with the rest of the soldiers towards the Palace.

Victor's gaze moved to the noble guests, inviting them to rise with a wave of his hands.

"Prince Beltrand of Asmein. Count Farlan of Agrye. Duke Chulanont of Vastal. Lord Chulanont of Vastal. The Throne owes you more than it can ever repay." The Prince turned his attention to the large group of soldiers whose coat of arms did not belong to any of the nobles present. "Just as it owes eternal gratitude to the rulers who could not be with us today, but still sent their men to support the rebellion. I hope their Commanders will report my words, along with the promise of more personal contact as soon as the new Government has taken office." Victor bowed to the nobles and soldiers, torso bent and head lowered as a sign of respect. "For now, I can only offer you rest and refreshment, with the guarantee that you’ll be able to enjoy food and drinks safely," the Prince added with a smile.

There were laughter and grins following those words; after everyone bowed to take their leave with a chorus of "Your Majesty", the guests left the courtyard to reenter their various settlements. Phichit approached Yuuri, crouching on the ground to exchange a few words. The smiles on the faces of the two men spoke more than a thousand words. Phichit then stood up and glanced at Victor with a sideways smile. Victor nodded briefly, and the young Lord walked away. They would have time to talk.

Victor shifted his gaze to the remaining people, the Palace servants who had risked everything for him and Yuuri. They weren't fighters, they couldn't have defended themselves if someone took it out on them, yet they hadn't hesitated.

"You have shown courage and initiative, as well as self-denial. Without your contribution, the rebellion would not have been successful. I’ll double your pay starting from today. If you need anything else, please let me know through my new Chancellor, Isabella Yang. "

There was a strangled sound in the ranks of pleased people still kneeling. Victor met Isabella's gaze, dilated in shock, and smiled sweetly. "Yuuri told me that your knowledge of the Palace and the people who work there is second only to the cook’s. But I need her to stay in her place because I could never do without her food." The cook chuckled, pleased. Isabella stammered something incoherent, blushing violently, before bowing her head and whispering "It's an honour, Your Majesty."

Victor nodded politely. "Go now, all of you. Rest. Tomorrow the new Head of the staff," and Victor waved at the cook who winced, shocked, "will begin the selection for new staff for the Palace, to replace those among who were loyal to the previous King that will be deemed unworthy of remaining. "

A new chorus of deferential "Your Majesty" rose in the courtyard, and the servants started moving back to the Palace. 

"Chancellor Yang, one more word," Victor said, and Isabella paused. Victor motioned for Leo and Otabek to come closer, while the Prince gracefully jumped off the stage, finally joining Yuuri and helping him off the ground. The young man had been kneeling until that moment, calm and proud. Victor slipped an arm around Yuuri's waist, holding him close.

“Yuuri told me how the three of you, in particular, risked a great deal to take care of him and make sure he had fresh food and as much as he needed during his captivity." The words choked in Victor's throat, and he had to push down the tears of anger that rose in his eyes at the thought of what Yuuri had been forced to go through. "You have my gratitude as a man and as a King. Whatever you need, now or in the future, I will do anything in my power to satisfy it. Please consider me a friend. My door will always be open to you."

Isabella, Leo and Otabek bowed deeply, then Isabella smiled. "It's hard not to get attached to Master Katsuki once you know him. We have done nothing but reciprocate the kindness he showed us. He would have done the same, and more." Leo and Otabek nodded solemnly at Isabella’s words. "Your Majesty," the three said then, taking their leave, finally leaving Yuuri and Victor alone.

Victor placed a light kiss on Yuuri's head, inhaling the scent of his hair. "You still haven't told me why you had that dagger with you," the Prince said hoarsely.

"Otabek," Yuuri replied, leaning against Victor's side, his head resting over his shoulder. "When I told him I was going to see you, he wanted to come with me. I said it was something I had to do myself. He wasn't happy, to put it mildly, but he forced me to at least bring the dagger with me. Just in case."

Victor hummed. "I have to increase his pay," he said, and Yuuri chuckled. 

Victor gently moved the other man, turning to face him. "You shouldn't have come, Yuuri. You should have stayed safe. When I saw you in his arms... when I saw that sword at your throat..." The Prince swallowed hard, and the tips of his fingers lifted to caress the wound on Yuuri’s throat. 

Yuuri smiled softly. "I had to do it, Your Highness. I simply had to."

“Will you ever call me by name?”

“Maybe.”

They both turned towards the stage and the motionless figure tied to the pole. The Prince then reached out to caress Yuuri's cheek, who tilted his face in the warmth.

“You swore to be mine,” Victor whispered.

“I did,” came the answer in a breath.

Victor straightened and beamed. “Follow me, then, Yuuri,” he said, grabbing Yuuri's hand and starting to walk. 

“Always, my King,” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the result of a massive brainstorming with [lorelai_walker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorelai_walker), who helped me so much when I was stuck on the best way to finish the King. Thank you so much for listening to my neverending doubts and for coming out with the perfect final moment for that dumbass ❤️


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the notes at the end when you're done 😁

They walked in silence, Victor holding Yuuri’s hand and leading the way. 

The Prince didn’t look at Yuuri once, but the young man didn’t seem bothered, the hold on his hand reassuring enough. Victor’s unhurried pace appeared to change the closest they were coming to the Prince’s chambers, but again, Yuuri didn’t complain, despite the toll the exertion was asking to his weakened body.

When they crossed the threshold of the Prince's apartments, Yuuri experienced a brief deja-vu. The sound of the closed and locked door reminded him of that last, fatal night months ago spent in Victor's arms. But this time, instead of being pinned to the wall and kissed senselessly, Yuuri found himself wrapped in the most desperate embrace.

Victor was shaking, his face sunk in the crook between Yuuri's shoulder and neck. The young man barely restrained himself from wincing when a movement of the Prince's head rubbed his silver hair against the cut on his neck. However, Yuuri could not stop the slight hiss ripped from his lips, and Victor straightened up abruptly, eyes wide with anxiety.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Yuuri- I-,” Victor stammered, while his eyes fell on Yuuri's wound and the bloodstains on his shirt collar. The cut hadn't bled for a long time, but the skin around it was red and sensitive, and Victor held his fingers that had risen to touch Yuuri's neck.

“It is all right,” Yuuri said softly, taken aback by the fragility Victor was showing since the door of the apartments had closed behind them. His fingers rose to the Prince's cheeks and tentatively stroked the skin, the tips of his fingers retracting wet with tears. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m mad, Yuuri. I'm out of my mind that I couldn't protect you, that I let him do this to you." Victor's voice was little more than a whisper; his eyes traced the entire figure of Yuuri, and clearly, he wasn’t referring only to the wound on his neck.

"I did not leave you much choice," Yuuri said in a similar tone, returning to break with his fingers the streams of tears that continued to fall silently on Victor's cheeks.

"That's another reason why I'm mad."

Yuuri didn't answer in words, but took a step forward and wrapped his arms around Victor's neck, right hand on the Prince's nape, gently pushing him to rest his forehead against Yuuri’s shoulder again, ignoring the sting of the skin on the neck. Victor meekly bent as if he were without strength, and his arms went back to encircle Yuuri around his waist. For long minutes, Yuuri let Victor just be, giving him the space to be sorrowful, to purge himself of the pain he had brought inside. One hand stayed on his nape, while the other drew light circles on the Prince’s back, palm open, soothing. Yuuri turned his face to the side, placing a light kiss on Victor's temple.

“I am so sorry,” Yuuri whispered in Victor’s ear, voice full of regret. “I did not want to drag you down with me. Your role in the plan was more important than-”

“Not for me.” 

Victor's response cut Yuuri’s words before he could finish, muffled from his position, still pressed against Yuuri's shoulder. Yuuri felt his heart squeezed painfully in his chest.

“I know. It is the reason why I acted by myself,” Yuuri added gently.

There was a moment of silence. Then Victor slowly straightened up. Yuuri softened the grip around his neck to allow him to move, but his hands remained softly on the back of the Prince's nape. The blue in Victor’s eyes staring at him stood out even more because of the redness from crying. There was an unspoken question in that gaze, to which Yuuri replied by rising on his toes and placing a sweet kiss on Victor’s lips.

"No, I did not use you to save myself from the King. It is the opposite. You saved me by accepting me. By accepting to have me for yourself; by accepting to break your word about touching the King's possessions." Yuuri’s voice trembled, the composure he had kept for so long starting to fade away.

An angry flash darted into Victor's eyes, but Yuuri knew it wasn't aimed at him. "You were never his property, Yuuri. He never had you. You never belonged to him.”

Yuuri tightened his hold on Victor’s nape at this remark, tears beginning to well in his eyes. A small choked-out cry escaped his lips, and now it was Victor's turn to hold Yuuri to himself, the young man's hands slipping from the neck down along the collarbones, clinging to the upper edge of the leather bodice that still wrapped the Prince's chest. Victor held him tight against his chest, lowering his head to lay his forehead on Yuuri's head.

“It’s over,” the Prince murmured, trying to put as much reassurance as he could into those simple two words.

“It has been so long,” Yuuri whispered, barely audible. Victor concentrated with all of himself on Yuuri's voice to be able to listen to him without forcing the other man to move, now that that thin body was trembling against his. "When he called me to his rooms, I was almost relieved. After all the years spent waiting for that moment-" Yuuri's voice stopped again, and Victor tightened the grip around his body as if trying to make them become one.

"But then..." Yuuri's grip on the leather bodice tightened spasmodically, his knuckles white. "Then, I thought I could not. I could not, not even for the sake of the plan. That man had already taken everything from me, I could not-" Yuuri's voice broke, and his whole body shook with sobs. A heartbreaking whine seemed to be ripped from the young man's throat, and Victor snapped.

With his own eyes blurred by tears, the Prince bent his knees as carefully as possible and let one arm slip under Yuuri’s legs, shifting the other around his shoulders to support his lover’s figure while lifting him. Yuuri didn’t oppose; his body still shaken by sobs was almost limp, his face hidden in Victor’s chest.

Victor walked through his apartment until he reached the bedroom, all the while murmuring sweet nothings into Yuuri’s ear. He was desperately trying to push down the anger and the bile that had risen into his stomach. The temptation to go back into the courtyard and rage on his father, dead or alive, was almost unbearable. Seeing Yuuri, his strong, proud Yuuri, reduced to the shadow of himself was putting a strain on his self-control. Only the knowledge that the man in his arms needed him by his side allowed Victor to put aside his fantasies of revenge.

Victor paused only to take off his shoes before carefully resting one knee on the bed, balancing himself, heedless of the dried blood that stained his clothes and skin. The next moment the second knee followed, and despite the weight in his arms, Victor was able to bring himself with his back against the headboard of the bed and settle Yuuri across his lap, the entire torso of the man lying softly on the Prince's chest. Yuuri's sobs were no longer so frequent, the worse of the crisis over, but the young man's breathing was still laboured, the beating of his heart erratic.

It took a long time for Yuuri to calm down. All the while, Victor hugged him with one arm, while the other hand stroked Yuuri’s back in slow circles. From time to time, the Prince placed a kiss on his black hair, praying with all his heart that Yuuri would feel all his love and support.

After an undefined time, Victor felt Yuuri's face shift lightly. The Prince's hand passed from Yuuri’s back to his shoulder until he found his cheek, wet with tears that had stopped flowing. Victor’s fingertips caressed the skin with touches like feathers, finding the lashes resting just above the cheekbone. Yuuri had his eyes closed.

When Victor was starting to think that Yuuri had fallen asleep from exhaustion, the hoarse voice of the other man faintly resumed.

"I used a drug that Phichit made. The King fell asleep, and I could leave the chambers unscathed. But then I realised I did not have a plan.” A soft, hollow chuckle. “Years spent planning a rebellion, and I did not take into consideration what would happen if I changed my mind. If, for any reason, I was not willing to sacrifice my body anymore.” 

A short pause followed. ”And then, there you were.” Yuuri added, almost with wonder.

Victor felt a lump in his throat and didn’t trust himself to talk. He hummed softly, though, to let Yuuri know he was listening, all the while keeping caressing his cheek with his thumb.  
Yuuri lifted his face to place a light kiss on Victor's jaw.

"Oh, how much I wanted to be yours,” Yuuri said then, sending a shiver down Victor's spine. “How much I wanted, for once, to be selfish and have something for myself. My decision, my choice." A shaky sigh followed. Yuuri's hand raising trembling to rest on the other side of Victor's jaw, almost fearful, as if he still couldn't believe the Prince was there. "And then you welcomed me. And you marked me and made me yours. And when it was time to face the consequences of my decision, I realised that I was no longer afraid. I was finally free. And I could face everything, anything that man would have thrown at me.”

Victor licked his dry lips, trying to overcome the knot that blocked his throat. "When I found your note that morning, I immediately knew there was something terrible you hadn't told me," Victor said when Yuuri paused. Yuuri trembled at the mention of the note and Victor made an effort to keep his tone of voice calm, free of bitterness or accusation.

"When I saw you tied to that pole... Yuuri, I thought I was going to go mad. I was sure that any rational thought I’d had up to that moment had abandoned me." Victor's voice trembled with anger and despair at the memory. "I would have killed with my bare hands, Yuuri. I would have dismantled the Palace brick by brick, set the whole Kingdom on fire so as not to see you there, not to see you-"

Victor had to stop and closed his eyes, his teeth gritted. The hand that had caressed Yuuri's face until that moment was frozen, resisting the urge to lock into a fist. Yuuri whimpered softly under the onslaught of Victor's emotions.

“Kiss me,” Yuuri breathed, pleading and commanding all at once.

Victor’s eyes opened and burned. The Prince shifted Yuuri slightly, enough to angle his face and collide their lips. They were frantic at first, but then they slowed down, remembering that they weren’t in danger of being caught or losing one another. 

Not anymore. Never again. 

When they had to break the kiss to breathe, Victor stared at those deep brown pools that no longer had anything placid.

"Say it, Yuuri," Victor asked hoarsely. "What you wrote in that note. Tell me. I want to hear it from your voice."

A gorgeous blush rose on Yuuri's cheeks, and the young man moistened his swollen lips with the tip of his tongue. Victor’s gaze dropped on them for a moment before finding Yuuri’s eyes again.

"I love you."

Victor closed his eyes, exhaling a trembling breath.

"Say my name, Yuuri."

"Victor." 

It was soft like a breath, and Victor's body shook under a violent shiver.

"Say it together, Yuuri. Say it for me."

"I love you, Victor."

"My Yuuri." Victor's eyes opened, bright as the sun. The Prince moved to lay down, taking Yuuri with him until the young man was stretched out under him.

"I want to find out everything about you, my love. I want your true self," Victor said, a hand brushing Yuuri’s hair off his forehead with tenderness.

Yuuri smiled and raised his arms, welcoming Victor against him.

_________________

_****One year later****  
_

“Why are you here, Sire?” 

Yuuri’s voice had a scolding note in it, while the young man raised his eyes from the document he was writing to look at Victor over the frame of his glasses.   
The King was crouched next to Yuuri’s desk, his head lying crosswise on his folded arms resting on the wooden surface, and his sea-coloured eyes were entirely focused on Yuuri, a seductive smile on his lips. 

“Can I not stay with my Royal Advisor?” Victor asked smoothly, moving enough to free one hand from under his head and reach out to Yuuri’s wrist, wrapping it with his fingers and stroking the back of the other man's hand.

“Not when you are supposed to be with the other noblemen for the official celebrations,” Yuuri answered, frowning at his hand holding the pen now trapped in Victor’s hold.

“Should my Advisor not be at my side for that as well?” Victor retorted, widening his smile.

Yuuri rolled his eyes, moving his wrist slightly under Victor's fingers, signalling his need to use his hand. Victor withdrew his grip and stood up, still smiling. The ceremonial robes flowed around the tall figure of the King, rearranging themselves in elegant folds.  
Yuuri dipped the nib in ink and resumed writing the document he was finishing. When he spoke again, his tone of voice was softer.

“You know that many wish to find even the smallest fault in you, Sire.”

Victor moved behind Yuuri and placed his hands on his shoulders, flexing his fingers to massage the tight knots he found near the other man's neck. Yuuri let out a groan and closed his eyes for a moment.

“You worry too much, Yuuri,” Victor said softly.

“And you don’t worry enough,” Yuuri snapped, escaping Victor's touch. The next moment Yuuri started as if realising what he had said and done. The young man put his pen on the desk and took his face in his hands, elbows propped on the wooden surface. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Victor said nothing. Bringing himself close to Yuuri again, the King gently bent and grabbed the other man's wrists, moving Yuuri’s hands away from his face and pulling slightly towards himself, in a silent invitation to get up. Yuuri did not resist and stood up, soon being wrapped in Victor's arms, finding himself adhered to the King's chest.

"I know that you worry about me,” Victor said in a gentle voice. “I understand that the people still don't trust me, that they think that my ascent to the throne is undeserved and the fruit of my bloodline alone. But, Yuuri,” Victor raised one hand to caress the black hair of his lover, tilting his face to meet his eyes, placing a kiss on his forehead. “They trust you. Your family is well-liked in the city, and the fact that your father has resumed his role as Minister for Foreign Affairs under the new Government has been well received. I know some of my father’s supporters still stir up discontent, but there is no way to stop them."

"And many think it is I who reign, in fact," Yuuri replied, his body rigid in Victor's embrace. "That you are just a puppet in the hands of your Advisor." 

Yuuri's voice was bitter. The young man lifted his eyes once more to find the King's, raising a hand to brush the silver bangs from Victor's face. "I hate that they do not see your efforts, how much you put of yourself into every decision, how much you care about everyone's comfort."

Victor smiled sweetly, lingering in the touch of Yuuri’s fingers. “You know I have never minded being your puppet, Yuuri.”

Victor chuckled when Yuuri snorted, and he lifted his hand to wrap it around Yuuri’s, kissing the other man’s fingertips. 

“We should go now. The celebrations will start shortly, and I want to be sure the true hero of the day will not miss any of them,” Victor whispered, bending down to kiss Yuuri softly on his lips.

Yuuri relented with a sigh and resigned himself to following Victor out of the study, on their way to the Throne room.

It was the anniversary of the fall of King Dmitry, and representatives of each neighbouring Kingdom, together with the rulers of Vastal, Asmein and Agrye, had gathered in the capital of Leglein for the celebrations and to renew the alliance. Relationships between the Kingdoms were stronger than ever, and the new course dictated by the Leglein Government in terms of benefits to the populations had earned strong support for the King.

Everywhere but in Leglein, where the situation was more uncertain.

The population of the capital had had no warning about the rebellion, finding themselves overnight with a dead King and another about to be crowned. Yuuri, as the appointed King's Royal Advisor, had drafted a proclamation that broadly explained what happened and how everything had been managed in such a way as to have as little impact as possible on innocent ordinary people.

Subsequent proclamations, aimed at explaining to the population that changes were about to take place in terms of fund management and support to the poor people and local activities decided by the Government, also bore the signature of Yuuri. In a short time, this served to reinforce the theory that in truth, he was the one to manage the Kingdom, and that Victor had only ascended the Throne by virtue of his lineage and he had no merit in what was decided by the Palace.

Many found it unfair, and the support for the King was wary. Some still saw Victor as a spoiled boy with no interest in the Kingdom, unaware of his role in the success of the rebellion. They didn’t know how much Victor had studied during the past year, and how he had subjected himself to gruelling hours of relentless teaching by each Minister so that he could have a complete picture of the decisions to be made.

As much as Yuuri tried, there was no way to change the thinking of so many people. The young Advisor lived in fear that the supporters of the old King, both among the population and among those who used to serve at the Palace and had been turned away after the rebellion, managed to organise themselves and try to subvert the Throne.

Yuuri had to interrupt his dark ruminations when they reached the Throne room, and the herald loudly announced their presence to the crowd inside.

“King Victor Nikiforov and Royal Advisor Yuuri Katsuki!”

Walking one step behind Victor, Yuuri had to admit once again how absolutely stunning the King was. Victor walked with his head held high, proud and confident. From the first day of his coronation, he had announced that he did not want to wear the crown that had belonged to his father, using instead a thin golden circle that was almost lost in the silver of his hair. His ceremonial robes, a long vest with a high belt and a long cloak, were gold and white and gave him a regal and ethereal aura.

In contrast, Yuuri wore a pair of tight white slacks, white shoes and a black tunic with a high collar and golden buttons, whose hem brushed his hip bones and was longer on the back, reaching the rear of his knees in two tails. His black hair was slicked back, and the blue of his glasses frame was the only splash of colour in the austere and elegant attire. Over the past year, Yuuri had regained the weight lost in captivity, and although his figure was still slim, his face had a healthier fullness.

They both walked between two wings of people who bowed deeply to them, reaching the platform on which the Throne stood. Victor climbed the three steps until he reached the top, while Yuuri stopped discreetly below to the right of the Throne.

Victor proceeded to thank everyone present for coming, recalling in a heartfelt speech their role in the previous year's rebellion and pointing out how everyone's commitment had allowed all kingdoms to thrive together. There were applause and words of support and recognition for the work done by the King and his Advisor, the atmosphere decidedly festive despite the formality of the event.

Victor invited his guests to head to the Great Hall, where they would find refreshments.   
He and Yuuri would join them after the speech to the people.

Yuuri and Victor left the Palace escorted by the King's Guards, which included Otabek and Leo. The day was warm for early Spring, and Victor softly cursed the heavy ceremonial robes he was forced to wear. After reaching the external walls of the Palace and climbing the two flights of stairs that led to the terrace created on them, Victor approached the low parapet, facing the crowd that filled the streets and the clearing in front of the Palace. Yuuri stopped a few steps behind him to his right, making sure he was visible from below.

Although the King did not have full support, the people knew that Yuuri would be present and had, therefore, flocked to see him. Yuuri, on the other hand, wanted to be sure that the people were clear in how he supported Victor unconditionally and would always be at his side.

Victor watched the mass of people for a brief moment before raising his hands to ask for silence. The murmuring and chatter died away, and all heads bent upward. The King lowered his hands and left them softly at his sides.

"People of Leglein," Victor's voice began, high and confident, commanding attention. "I know that this is a day that many live with mixed feelings. I do not expect everyone to accept the decisions taken one year ago. However, I want it to be crystal clear that those decisions only had in mind the improvement of living conditions for all.”

It was striking how easily Victor made the noise around them fade into the background for Yuuri. The Royal Advisor stood proudly behind his King, watching him and only him. It was still a mystery to Yuuri how anyone could doubt the kind of person Victor was, the sensitivity of his soul and the sharpness of his thinking. On the other hand, Yuuri had to admit, ordinary people couldn’t know him and see him at work as Yuuri could.

Victor kept talking, addressing a population that was still wary of him with the same kindness and openness he would have given to his more trusted allies. He didn’t see a fault in the doubts and the suspicions, only a sign that he had to do more, he had to be better.

Yuuri was brought back to reality by the sound of his name and made an effort to pay attention again.

“I am aware that many of you don’t trust me as much as you trust my Royal Advisor Yuuri Katsuki. Some of you think I have risen to the Throne only because of my lineage and not because of merit.” A pause, while his sea-blue eyes were scanning the crowd without shame. “You are not wrong in this, but let me assure you that I am working hard to remedy my shortcomings and to be the King you deserve to have. Still...”

Victor turned slightly towards Yuuri and extended an arm towards him, hand open and palm up in a silent invitation to join him.  
Yuuri blinked a couple of times and moved hesitantly to join the King in the front of the terrace, frowning slightly. This wasn’t part of the ceremony, and Yuuri was somewhat taken aback.

Victor's hand went down to take Yuuri's, although the other man had not raised it, and gently wrapped it with his own, turning back to the crowd and taking Yuuri with him until he was beside the King. A loud cheer rose from the multitude of people, and Yuuri smiled shyly, raising his free hand in acknowledgement and asking for silence again.

Victor smiled. "Your support for Master Katsuki is more than deserved. Some are perhaps aware of the circumstances of his presence at the Palace during my father's reign, but I do not intend to bring painful memories to light."

Victor felt Yuuri's hand tense in his, following his words, and his thumb moved to caress his lover's knuckles, reassuring.

“I am well aware many of you think it’s Master Katsuki that leads the Kingdom, and I am nothing more than a puppet that is depriving the right ruler of his spot in the light.”

Victor could feel Yuuri’s gaze bore in his head with the force of his remonstration, but he refused to meet his lover’s eye. There was something he had planned for a long time, and he would see it come true today according to his plans.

“This assumption is not entirely correct. But I agree with you that Master Katsuki deserves to have his efforts recognised in a much more noticeable way than simply being the Royal Advisor. It happens that I know exactly how.”

A confused murmur rose from the crowd following the last words, echoed by Yuuri’s whispering of “Sire, what are you-”

Victor turned to Yuuri, the expression on his face serious.  
An unreal silence descended over the entire audience at the sight of the King kneeling in front of his Royal Advisor, his ceremonial robes floating around him until they were arranged in elegant folds on the terrace tiles, his hand still holding Yuuri’s.

It was as if no one dared to breathe, least of all Yuuri, who looked at Victor with eyes so wide they seemed almost as big as the lenses of his glasses.

"Yuuri Katsuki. My Yuuri. Do you want to make me the happiest man in this world by giving me your hand and becoming my husband?"

A few gasps were audible in the crowd, which, however, remained for the vast majority in stunned silence, waiting.  
Victor could pinpoint the moment when Yuuri's expression went from bewildered to worried to resolute until it settled on one Victor knew well. Yuuri was preparing to counter the idea with logic. But the King had prepared himself for the eventuality and raised his free hand sharply as soon as Yuuri opened his mouth, preventing him from talking.

“I know what you are going to say. It's not a political move; it’s not a way to silence grievances." Victor stared Yuuri in the eye with an intensity that would have taken the breath away of even the bravest man. "Yuuri, I fell in love with you before I could even admit it to myself. From the first moment in which your eyes stared at me, already full of reproach for my behaviour. It is thanks to you that I have become what I am now. I have risked losing you more times than I like even to remember...”

Victor had to pause to recollect himself, his hand squeezing Yuuri’s on the verge of pain for a moment. He sighed shakily, and a pledge replaced the confidence of his gaze. 

“I wish for you to have the place you deserve, Yuuri. Right by my side. I want to spend my days with you openly, and may you be seen in all the glory you represent when you stand up for your claims with pride and stubbornness.” 

Victor knew his words were unusual for a King. He couldn’t care less. He didn’t think he could resist one more day without having Yuuri entirely by his side, not having to hide their feelings. True, many in the Palace knew they were lovers, but they were still treating it as an illicit relationship, and Victor loathed it.

“Yuuri Katsuki. I love you. I love you more than I will ever be able to express. Please...”

Victor couldn’t finish his pledge and bowed his head, waiting for an answer with his heart beating furiously in his ribcage, his mind spinning with fear of rejection. He knew that he had not given any warning to Yuuri and that sudden situations often caused his lover states of anxiety and rushed reactions. Victor could only pray that his feelings were more potent than the fear of not being enough that was undoubtedly pressing into Yuuri's mind.

Yuuri didn’t answer for a time that seemed to stretch impossibly longer than the mere seconds it took to him to recover from the shock and fully understand the meaning of what he had just heard. 

Of course, when Victor had first asked the question, Yuuri had been ready to state what a bad idea that was. Not with these words, certainly not in front of the entire people. But he had been prepared to dismiss the whole matter with courtesy, suggesting that surely there would be other ways of emphasising Yuuri's importance if that was what he wanted. 

In private, Yuuri would later figuratively tear the King apart for putting on a stunt like that.

But Yuuri couldn't argue with what had followed.   
He couldn't downplay Victor's feelings, not when they echoed his own so completely.

Yuuri felt his eyes fill with tears and brought his free hand to his mouth, unable to hold back the trembling of his lips. When he closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself, the tears rolled down his cheeks in two silver streams that caught the sunlight, sparkling. 

“Yes,” he whispered, so softly that even in the stillness of the moment, it was barely audible. Victor raised his head slowly with a hopeful look.

Yuuri cleared his throat and repeated in a louder voice, moving his hand from his mouth and revealing a radiant smile.

"Yes. Yes, I will marry you."

The crowd burst into cheers that rang out everywhere. Voices repeated what had happened to those who were further away and had not been able to follow the events, provoking new excited cries.

Yuuri and Victor heard none of this.

The King, still kneeling, brought his free hand to a hidden pocket on his chest, taking out a ring. It was a simple golden band, and it paired with the one that, Yuuri could now see, had adorned the ring finger of Victor's right hand since that morning. Victor raised Yuuri's right hand and slipped the ring on his finger; then he placed his lips on the cold metal.

The King finally stood up, and slipped an arm around Yuuri's waist, tightening him to his side. The crowd shouted its approval and Victor struggled to make himself heard above the cacophony of sounds.

He announced that a banquet would be offered to all who wanted to participate in the main square of the capital, wishing everyone to enjoy the day.

Finally, Victor turned his back to the terrace, taking Yuuri with him. They both went down the stairs, dazed, and stopped at the bottom of them, facing each other and staring. The guards moved discreetly, turning their backs to them, leaving a minimum of privacy to the newly engaged couple.

Victor brushed aside a lock that had come out of Yuuri's hairstyle and was touching his forehead. Yuuri raised himself on tiptoe and placed his lips softly on Victor's. The kiss soon turned from chaste to steamed, dancing tongues exploring each other's mouths. When they pulled away because of the need to breathe, they were both flushed and wheezing.

"Let's go break the good news to our allies," Victor said hoarsely. "And as soon as the obligations permit, I wish to have you for myself, Yuuri Katsuki."

"Phichit will have something to say about that. He will surely want every single detail and to have the exclusive right to organise the wedding," Yuuri replied with a mischievous expression.

“He will wait for details if he doesn't want to spend the night in prisons. It is a crime to prevent the King from secluding himself with his fiancé,” Victor declared.

“Since when?” Yuuri asked, chuckling.

“Since now. Royal proclamation. You, as the Royal Advisor until the wedding, should be the one telling him.”

Yuuri's laughter fills the courtyard of the Palace and Victor's heart with pure joy.

Victor promised himself that from now on, he would make Yuuri laugh in that carefree way at every opportunity and every day of their life together. There had been too much pain in the years they had spent together up to this point. It was time to erase the memories of the past and build new ones, full of happiness.

Circling his fiancé's waist with one arm, Victor drew Yuuri to him and lingered in another kiss, reluctantly breaking away after a while.

"Let’s go if you don't want me to decide to ignore the ceremony entirely and steal you now."

With a new laugh from Yuuri in his ears, Victor walked with him towards the entrance of the Palace and a future brighter than the sun shining in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I can't quite believe it's done. I have such mixed feelings, I'm not sure I'm ready to let it go :)
> 
> Before the thanks, I would like to ask you something: would you like a continuation?  
> It's not something I've considered from the start, but ... someone mentioned a wedding in the comments of the previous chapters, so I thought I'd ask.  
> Potentially, I also have material for a second series. It couldn't completely follow the main plot of King's Maker because the personal relationship between the main characters is not the same at this point, but a couple of very interesting events may still come into play.
> 
> Let me know in the comments!
> 
> Heartfelt thanks to all of you who have read my work. Every single comment and kudo warmed my heart. I am incredibly happy that this story has brought so many emotions to so many of you. Writing "Burn that page for me" after "Waves" and after "Look Therapy" was definitely a huge change, but it was an incredibly exciting challenge.
> 
> I have a half-finished one-off that I hope to be able to publish by the end of the month, and a gigantic project that scares me just by the number of notes I've taken for it (lol), but this AU will always have a special place in my heart.
> 
> Thanks again and take care of yourselves. ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know your thoughts in the comments or find me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/solnyshko-uk) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/JamAnna77)
> 
> The story is complete and updates every Wednesday and Sunday.


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